In Pieces
by Purpuhl
Summary: Rhen Pendragon and Dameon Maurva fall in love in a series of one-shots, sometimes silly, sometimes angsty, always cute. There are also cats! In honor of the talented soul who drew "In Sun's Embrace," the final piece in this collection is "Golden" (ch 43). And now the adventure begins. *UPDATED AGAIN* 12/15/2018, "The Opposite of Solitude" (ch 10)
1. Confounded

**Confounded**

 _RHEN X DAMEON. I've been wanting some RxD fanfiction forever, so I finally wrote it. I know there are others who felt the same, so I'm sharing my creation here. I know it's sappy. You're welcome. If you have any cute ideas feel free to tell me, or write them yourself! I will read them and review them and love them forever._

 _(Also, by the way, I love reviews, please feel free to leave one, you'll make my week!)_

 ** _DISCLAIMER:_** _I do not own Aveyond, I'm just a sucker for fluff and am madly, irrevocably, unequivocally, and hopelessly in love with the characters._

 _This first piece is inspired by Queen_of_ice101's RhenxDameon fanart "Greetings my Lady," which is very lovely and which you should totally check out. Set when Rhen is bringing Rashnu to the Sun Shrine. Dameon is waiting to meet her and then join her and convince her to join Ahriman. We'll see how that works out for him._

* * *

He was going to hate her. He knew, because his mother liked her so much. And he would never trust her— he had learned his lesson about trust. But _she_ was going to trust _him_. He knew his place, and his part, and he would do what was required.

He was prepared to swallow his irritation, his dislike, his discomfort— all of it. He would be charismatic, like his father. He would force a smile. He would say nothing wrong.

She would be pompous, he knew. She would be full of being _the chosen one_ , and he would have to take her down, carefully, slowly, so she wouldn't notice, so she would only gradually realize how impossible it would be to defeat Ahriman, how hopeless it was to even try.

She would be puffed up with her own supposed importance, and he would have to show her what was _really_ important— justice to traitors, traitors like his mother; and revenge for the wronged— surely even she, even _the chosen one_ , had been hurt by someone, surely such a promise would appeal even to _her._

So he was prepared entirely to meet her, and as he watched her lead her companions up the temple steps, her braid swaying behind her, he knew he had been right about everything. Nothing she could do would surprise him, nothing would make him hesitate or doubt, nothing, _nothing_ , would fool him into trusting her.

Nothing, except the way she tripped right over the last step, and her arms flailed about wildly and her eyes caught his and he realized that _she was going to fall_ , if he didn't move his arms _right— now—_

He caught her shoulders, and he was already much, much closer than he'd ever intended to be and he hadn't even introduced himself yet.

"Hello there," she said, which he never would have predicted even though now it seemed terribly obvious. She found her balance, and stood up straight again, and he pulled his hands back to his sides and tried to look polite, but he was sure he mostly looked bewildered. And she seemed to be trying to look serious but her nose was pink and her voice squeaked a little when she said, "I don't think we've met. Are you one of the druids?"

He had prepared for this. He had an answer, which he was supposed to give, and it was supposed to be cordial, and charming, and he had _no idea_ what it was— her eyes were purple, but that had nothing to do with it.

"Rhen, this is my son Dameon, the Sun Priest."

His mother's voice irked him, and he was sure he sounded stiff and cold when he said to the chosen one, "M'lady, pleased to meet you." He took her hand to make up for it, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to be formal or friendly but it was too late, he had kissed her fingers, and they were very calloused, and she was turning a very charming shade of pink.

And either he had been a fool before, or he was a fool now, but he thought it would be ridiculous to try to strip away her pretensions, because she had none. And he never could have prepared for it, but somehow now he was smiling at her, and he knew already that this wouldn't be the last time she confounded him.


	2. A Matter of Preference

**A Matter of Preference**

 _This short, which used to be first, happens shortly (hahahaha) after Dameon joins Rhen's party. They are returning to Ghed'ahre to recruit Te'ijal into their group, having obtained sunscreen, but before they get there it starts to get dark and they have to camp in the Wildwoods._

* * *

"This looks like a good place to camp," the sword singer said, motioning at a flat space slightly sheltered by a few tall pine trees.

The green-haired one wrinkled his nose. "It looks lumpy."

Rhen rolled her eyes and explained to Dameon, "Lars always thinks that." Dameon nodded understandingly and privately thought that the sorcerer's antics were likely to become annoying very quickly.

The sword singer turned to their other companion. "Elini, why don't we—"

"I am _not_ gathering firewood again!" the Veldtonian woman declared. "I get splinters and they make it difficult to do my summonings. I will set up the sleeping mats. You two can get the wood."

"Er... Okay," the chosen one said. Dameon noticed that a blush had bloomed across her face, stretching over her nose and touching the edges of each ear. It was very charming and he couldn't help smiling at her. She didn't notice because she was stubbornly looking at the ground.

"I'll light the fire once you're done," Lars volunteered, apparently feeling he was making a great sacrifice in doing so. Dameon rolled _his_ eyes, but said in what he meant to be a polite tone, "Of course."

"We'll have to go deeper into the trees," Rhen was saying to him, already walking that way herself.

"I _have_ camped before, you know," he said as he followed her into the woods, a little peeved at her apparent lack of faith in his abilities to do anything. Earlier she had cut down a crow that was coming his way, and at lunch she had ripped off his piece of bread for him.

She turned back to face him and suddenly all he could see were wide, sad violet eyes which were staring straight through him. He dropped his gaze, feeling ashamed for he didn't know what, and mumbled in a flustered sort of way, "Sorry, m'lady."

"I... am sorry, too," she said. "I guess I'm just used to having to take care of everyone."

Her nose was pink again and it was so adorable that he forgot to be uncomfortable. "No more, sword singer," he assured her. "I will pull my own weight." To prove it, he picked up a stick. "See, I am contributing already."

She smiled, just slightly, and Dameon realized the strangest thing. He had just made a _joke._ Albeit not a good one, but he hadn't even _heard_ a joke since... since his father… since _that_ day. He wasn't sure how to feel, but he was sure he shouldn't feel lightheaded and nervous. What was _happening_ to him?

They didn't speak much after that, except to point out bunches of sticks to each other. Once he moved a particularly low-hanging branch out of her way, and her shoulder brushed his hand as she passed. He felt his ears get hot and he silently thanked the darkness of the forest.

He had fully intended to hate her. But she was so sincere, so entirely herself. She spoke as she thought and was so open that instead of disliking her he found that he was rapidly opening up to her. And that was both exciting and _terrifying_.

When they had both filled their arms with sticks of varying sizes, they returned to the campground. Lars started the fire and Rhen passed out hunks of meat. Everyone reached for a thin stick to roast their dinner on, and Dameon did likewise. Nobody spoke.

Everyone's meat was soon sizzling over the flames. The smoke rose straight up into the sky—the slight breeze wasn't enough to drive it into anyone's face. And over the smoke, the sky was clear and starry.

"The weather is nice," Dameon observed conversationally, then quietly cursed himself for making such a dull comment.

"Mmgdh," Elini said, but she wasn't responding to him. She was trying to bite off a piece of practically raw meat. Dameon was shocked and a little disgusted, but he quickly turned back to the fire.

"Elini likes her meat rare," Rhen explained.

"Mmpft" Elini said, having successfully taken a bite.

"I also prefer my meat rare. Anything more done is dog food," Lars said haughtily. Then, his meat caught on fire.

"Arrgh!" he squealed, beating his now blackened meat against the ground beside him until sparks stopped flying from it. "Blasted flames! Every time..."

Dameon smiled slightly, a little amused, then turned to Rhen. "And how do you like your meat?"

"Er," she looked at the ground, "Medium. But I can never get it right."

"Why not?"

"I, er, never really learned..." she trailed off.

Dameon stared at her, but instead of seeing her he saw a lock of purple hair from a slave dealer, _purple,_ not red, and he thought of her thin form curled in the dirty lower decks of a slave ship, or bent beneath a heavy burden, or flinching under— under—

He shuddered.

"I am... sorry, sword singer."

She smiled thinly. "That's all right. I'm sure I'll get it eventually."

He couldn't tell her what he had meant. Instead, he reached for her stick. "Let me try."

"O—kay," she said, looking surprised but letting him take it. "Er, where did you learn to cook?"

"I—" he swallowed, and said carefully, "lived alone, for some time." He turned her stick and moved it farther from the fire.

"Oh," she said, and looked down, apparently embarrassed.

"Couldn't you just eat in Teacup Town?" Lars said with a roll of his eyes.

Dameon drew his eyebrows together, unsure how to respond. "They're cats..."

Lars shrugged. "So?"

"They eat cat food."

Suddenly Lars smiled viciously. "It sounds perfect for Peta then."

Dameon was confused. Did they have a dog? He hadn't seen one.

"Don't call me that," Rhen growled, and Dameon realized what was going on. He frowned at the sorcerer, but Lars hardly noticed and continued to smirk.

"Ahh," Elini sighed contentedly, apparently having finished her meat. "That's it for me, sword singer... Sun priest... sorcerer..." She inclined her head at each in turn. "I will retire now. Goodnight, northerners."

"Goodnight Elini," Rhen said.

"I'm going to bed too," Lars said, tossing the rest of his burnt meat into the flames. "Don't forget to put out the fire."

Rhen sighed. "We won't."

Then it was just the two of them under the stars. He should say something. He should try to bring up the finer points of Ahriman's plan, slowly reveal the truth to her. His mouth was open but nothing was coming out. What was _wrong_ with him? Her eyes were so purple, violently purple, like storm clouds whirling through a night sky, sometimes pouring down destruction, otherwise softly calling to the tiny growing things beneath the soil. He felt he couldn't look at them for too long or he would be swallowed up, lost, destroyed— yet he couldn't look away.

He wanted to say something witty and charming. He wanted her to blush again. Blushing suited her, made her silly little nose look more adorable, made her eyes stand out twice as much—

He realized then that she _was_ blushing, though he hadn't said anything at all.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, self-consciously moving a piece of hair out of her face.

Embarrassed, he quickly looked away, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your dinner is done, sword singer." He handed her the stick, carefully keeping his eyes down.

He heard her chomping down on the meat, sucking up the juices like a starved animal. She was certainly not an elegant eater, but he thought it was fitting. She had no pretensions about herself, why should she have any for her meal? Without noticing, he raised his gaze to look at her, and was a little surprised to see she had already finished half her food.

She caught his eye, and said, perhaps a little shyly, "It's very good, thank you."

"Is it?" He said, more excitedly than he had meant to. "I am very glad." And he _was_ very glad, which was very strange, and he hesitated a little and then added, "It is a pleasure to cook for you."

She smiled, a real smile, and it was infinitely more becoming than the blush.


	3. A Hairy Problem

**A Hairy Problem**

 _This short happens after Te'ijal has joined, and after Rhen and co. have made their way to the Western Isle to retrieve the next druid, Armaiti of Agriculture._

* * *

Lars had been complaining persistently about the quality of ground on the Western Isle, and, upon seeing the sign pointing towards Brumwich, had demanded that they stay at the inn there at least for one night. Elini had eagerly agreed, wishing to take a real, proper bath and to have a mirror in order to arrange her hair. Rhen wanted to hike to Clearwater, but she had to admit to herself that the demon summoner did have such lovely, flowing hair, and she couldn't help wanting to see it done up nicely.

But on the way to Brumwich, they had been attacked by cursed stones— _stones_ , of all things!—and one of them had managed to smash Rhen's arm. Dameon had immediately begun healing it, leaving the other three to finish the battle, but the curse left her arm weak and he had insisted she keep it in a sling for at least a few days.

She didn't want to wear a stupid sling. She couldn't carry her shield while she wore it. She had to eat one-handed. She had to let someone else count out the money at the inn. And in the morning, she couldn't even brush her blasted hair, or put it up into anything even resembling a braid. She tried to pull the sling off, but a jolt of pain prevented her.

" _Dameon!_ " she yelled, not meaning to call him but just to express her frustration. She knew it wasn't _his_ fault the stone had targeted her, wasn't his fault she couldn't move her arm out of the way quickly enough. He had done everything he could, but why, why, _why_ must she wear that confounded sling—

The door was opening, and a pair of guarded brown eyes peeked in. "What is the matter, sword singer?"

He still called her that, though it had been nearly two weeks now. She scowled, and answered, "My hair!"

He came into the room and cautiously regarded said object. After a moment, a small smile changed his expression from one of confusion to something like kindness. "It is beautiful."

"I can't braid it!" she huffed, not willing to be charmed into a good mood just yet. Then she said, shoving the brush at his chest, " _You_ do it!"

He caught the brush but only stared at it, his mouth slightly open. "A week ago you wouldn't let me tear off my own bread!" he protested.

"Well, you have been promoted, _Dameon_!" She purposely used his name, his actual name, not his title, because she was feeling spiteful and rebellious and _blast it,_ she hated that stupid sling!

"Sword singer—"

She glared up at him and imagined she could see his protests falling to pieces around him.

"Rhen—" he amended, more quietly, almost timidly (and she found she liked the funny twist he gave it, as though the h was not entirely silent, as though it was meant to make a half-whisper sound, and not only to take up space). "I— I have no idea how to braid."

She looked at him standing uncertainly in the doorway, and she felt a surge of irritation at herself. He was just trying to help. Why couldn't she be nice?

"I— I am sorry, Dameon, _"_ this time she said the name because she needed to feel comfortable, for once not stiff or formal. "This isn't your fault. I am just— so _frustrated_ , because—"

To her horror, angry tears had started flowing down her face. "Because my _hair_ ," she continued stubbornly, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "I can't do _anything_ — I wanted to go home—"

She hadn't intended to tell him this, and was mortified to find herself doing so. "I wanted to see Pa again—" the tears flowed faster. "And Ma—" she sniffed. "And— Jenna— Danny— Peter—"

She felt his hand gently brush her shoulder and she looked up at him, startled.

He seemed startled himself, but he only said quietly, his brown eyes focused on her nose (why did he always look at her nose?) "I can try to braid your hair, if you will teach me."

She sniffed and managed to wipe most of the tears away, soothed not so much by his words as by his presence. Anyone else would have abandoned her to her tantrum long before now; she was thankful for his patience. It was like having a friend again. She smiled at the idea and pulled him into a grateful one-armed hug, was surprised at the softness and warmth of his robes, found that he had stiffened at the sudden contact, quickly released him, looked shyly at her feet.

And perhaps she only imagined it, but as he brushed through her hair she thought his ears seemed just a shade pinker.

* * *

 _You thought the hair problem was going to be Dameon's, didn't you? Fools! ;P_


	4. Retreat!

**Retreat!**

 _The chronology in this part of the game is very vague. There are several sidequests which might be complete before going to Clearwater, and one main quest which probably should be, but for Rhen's sake we will go straight to Clearwater without doing any of those things. It has been a year and a number of months since she's been home, and when she gets there, her father tells her that she's... not... his... daughter. On top of that, her real mother is dead, her father is presumed dead, AND, her childhood crush is missing. All in all I think Rhen has had a tough time and she rather deserves the attentions this story. Also Rhen is SO FUN to write for I just love her so much argh._

* * *

So her dad wasn't her dad. Her ma wasn't even kinda related to her. Her actual dad was a miserable old guy who had never bothered to look for her. Or, he seemed old in his misery, but she supposed he wasn't actually any older than Pa. Her actual ma was dead, had probably died fighting Ahriman, who, it seemed, was determined to completely and irreversibly ruin her life.

 _And_ , Danny was missing.

But Rhen was _not_ going to have another bad day. Not here, not now. Today she was going to do something fun and stupid, and anyone who thought otherwise would be subjected to an unpleasant conversation with her blade. She said as much after breakfast.

"I suppose you are too old to be bossed around by me anymore," was all Ma said. Pa laughed and agreed. "Hurry off then, lass. Come back for dinner!"

Rhen smiled and hugged her pa— _her_ pa, no matter what anyone else said. Then she turned to her other four companions, daring any of them to protest.

Dameon and Te'ijal just smiled at her, Dameon apparently finding the idea very charming, and Te'ijal apparently amused, as she always was.

Elini shrugged. "I was going to scout the village."

"Scout?" Lars asked dubiously.

"For husbands," Elini said, quite seriously. She shook her head. "Silly northerner!"

Lars frowned petulantly. "Well, I was going to— to scout for _intelligence._ Come on, Te'ijal, Dameon, we haven't got all day!"

Dameon frowned at him, probably because he was being so bossy. But Te'ijal just chuckled, eternally entertained, and then followed Lars out the door. Dameon briefly touched Rhen's shoulder, with a soft, "Have fun, Rhen," and then he followed them. Rhen rubbed where his fingers had brushed, feeling suddenly very warm.

"I hope they don't kill each other," Elini said as soon as the doors closed. Rhen managed a laugh.

"Good luck with your errand; there aren't many bachelors here, last I checked."

"But then, I presume you weren't particularly looking?"

Rhen blushed, immediately thinking of Danny, but said, "Er, no, I guess not..."

Thankfully, Elini left after that, and Rhen was free to find whatever adventure she might.

First, she headed for Peter's house. Peter was always up for doing something stupid (Danny never had been, now that she thought of it). In fact, this whole stupid quest was rather Peter's fault to begin with— but she could only be mad at herself. She shouldn't have talked to that stranger. But maybe it didn't matter. Probably her destiny would have caught up with her anyway.

She was so caught up in these thoughts, which she had promised not to think, that she almost ran right into a red-haired man. He apologized and then his eyes widened. "Rhen, you're back!" He grinned. "Welcome home!"

"Peter?" she said, hardly believing it. "You are so different!"

" _I_ am different? _You_ are the one wearing strange new clothes! And what do you need that huge blade for?"

Rhen laughed. "Never mind all that, I'm here to do something fun! Let's go chase Billy Harper's sheep or something!"

Peter laughed awkwardly.

"What?" she demanded, confused.

"Um, I watch Billy Harper's sheep now."

"Oh..." she had forgotten how long it had been, how much things must have changed. "And... Jenna?"

"We're married now!" he said, and grinned.

"Oh, that's... wonderful. Really." And it really was. Jenna and Peter had liked each other for years. But... she just wished her own life was turning out so normally.

After she promised to join them for dinner one day ("Probably very far in the future," she had told him), they parted, and Rhen shuffled aimlessly through the village muttering to herself. "Well, _now_ what?"

There was no one left to talk to her. They had all moved on, grown up. She had left, had been taken, and she could never, ever come back. The place she'd left didn't exist anymore. The friends she'd left were gone, were new people. She was alone.

There was an abundance of apples, red apples. She noticed it more now that she had been so many places where there weren't apples. But what could she possibly do with an apple? Maybe she could make some kind of mischief with the corn-stealing squirrels they had found. She picked one up and glared at it. Did squirrels eat apples? She wasn't sure. But, it was the only idea she had, so towards the squirrels she went. And she didn't think at all about the years before, or what she was going to do with her future, now that the past was gone.

It was an hour's hike to the squirrels' cave— er, base. But really she didn't even want to go there, nor did she have any idea what she would do when she got there, so half an hour later she was still not even a third of the way there. She was standing in front of yet another apple tree, deliberating, or resting, or most likely stalling, when she heard an excessively angry and pompous voice saying, " _Just leave it! It's probably feral."_

 _"It's lost,"_ another voice, quiet and serious, protested.

" _You are both most amusing,_ " a cool female voice said.

Rhen peeked around the tree and had to smile at the scene before her. It appeared Dameon had found a cat, which he was cradling in his arms. Lars found it disgusting, and Te'ijal, as usual, found it funny. Rhen supposed it must be her job to find a resolution.

"What's going on here?" she said, stepping out from behind the tree.

Lars yelped and jumped into a defensive posture, and Dameon shielded the cat. Rhen and Te'ijal both laughed, and the cat, a brown, spotted little thing, meowed.

Lars scowled and Dameon turned red. The druid retracted his shield spell and explained sheepishly, "We thought you were another enchanted tree."

Rhen laughed again, enjoying the incongruity of the Sun Druid coddling a stray cat. "No, just me," she said.

"And it appears that we are the ones enchanted," he said with a half-smile.

Rhen was aware that her nose had turned pink but she tried to pretend she wasn't. "What'd you find?" she said, motioning at the cat.

"A wild animal!" Lars said angrily.

"A _cat_ ," Dameon corrected, glaring at him.

" _He_ thinks we should bring it home," Te'ijal explained, pointing at Dameon, "and _he,"_ now she pointed at Lars, "thinks we should leave it."

Rhen tossed aside the apple she had been carrying. "The first one sounds more exciting," she said, smiling at Dameon gratefully because now she wouldn't have to hike to the squirrel's base. He looked happily back at her— or at her nose. Had his eyes always been that dark?

"Fine, let's get this over with!" Lars huffed, stomping off into the forest. "There better be some kind of reward!"

"I saw a cottage not far from here," Te'ijal said.

"We'll go there first," Lars said over his shoulder.

"The cottage was in the other direction."

Lars glared at her but turned around.

* * *

They found the cottage and entered the front gate. Dameon had let Rhen hold the cat, which had started purring. When he thought Rhen wasn't looking, Dameon would reach over to scratch the cat's ears, and then he would quickly look away when he noticed Rhen watching. And it was stupid, and dumb, and ridiculous, but his awkward display of embarrassment was sort of cute and it made her smile, so she kept pretending not to look so he would do it again. She knew he wasn't completely socially inept: at times he could be perfectly charming. But sometimes he was embarrassed and flustered by everything, and— it was strange to think, but— it seemed to happen mostly when she made him look at her eyes, and not at her nose, for goodness sake.

They arrived at the door, and Rhen gave the cat back to Dameon (which made him smile, which made her smile) so she could knock. A grumpy voice from inside said "Come in," so they did.

"My eye! My eye!" an old man was muttering to himself.

"What's wrong with your eye?" Rhen asked, alarmed.

"My brother, Dorvan, stole it from me. The wretched man dragged it away to his house in the south."

Rhen could only stare in shock, but Lars had something to say. "That's disgusting. Why would your brother steal your eye?"

"Not my real eye, you fool!" the old man scolded. "I had a magical glass eye that I used to see. Without the glass eye, I'm blind!"

"How awful!" Rhen said.

"The back gate is locked," Te'ijal announced, which made Rhen jump. Dameon touched her arm reassuringly and gave her the cat again. She thought the room suddenly felt rather hot.

The old man seemed to understand the vampress. "I locked the gate behind my house because a confounded demon kept coming up from the caves to terrorize my little Zini!"

"Who is Zini?" Rhen asked, petting the cat.

"My precious cat!" he answered.

 _"Meow!"_

"Oh, _there_ you are, Zini!" the old man said. The cat jumped out of Rhen's arms and began rubbing its head against the old man's legs.

 _Oh._ That should have been obvious, she supposed. She looked at Dameon and shrugged. He smiled back. She turned to the old man. "Can you unlock the gate for us? We can rid you of the demon."

The old man frowned. "Find my glass eye and I will open the gate for you."

Rhen agreed to this, and they made their way back out of the cottage.

"Well, that was the start of an adventure," Rhen said.

Lars rolled his eyes. "That is _all_ the adventure I am taking part in today. I'm going back to Clearwater for some rest."

"Rest is for mortals," Te'ijal said. "But I would like to reapply my sunscreen."

Rhen didn't want to go back, not yet. She couldn't face all those changes. She turned to Dameon. " _You'll_ do something with me, right?"

His ears turned pink and he stammered, "I— you— yes— of course, Rhen."

She smiled widely and grabbed his hand (and his cheeks turned pink, too). "Come on! We'll go chase some sheep!"

 _"Sheep?_ "

But she sped up and didn't give him the chance to question her any further.

* * *

The sheep were completely unsuspecting. Their noses were to the ground. The only sounds to be heard were their feeble _baahs_ and the crunching of grass— and, from the edge of the forest surrounding the meadow, the whispered protests of Dameon.

"Aren't we a little old for this—"

"Sshh! You'll alert the sheep."

"Rhen—"

"Shh!"

"I don't—"

"Quiet!"

"Think—"

"Dameon," she scolded, locking her eyes onto his. She liked watching his guarded gaze soften. His usual defenses broke up and he was open to her.

He colored but managed to stammer, "I— don't— like this. What if they— panic and run off— the mountain?"

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

She was surprised by the earnestness of his concern. "Haven't you ever chased sheep before?"

He stared at her with wide brown eyes and then looked away. "No."

"You— you never—"

She had known before but somehow hadn't realized that both of his parents had been _druids_ , and two of the most isolated druids. Where did he play? _How_ did he play? Had he even known other children? But these weren't questions she could ask, not now.

Instead, she reached out and took his hand. "Come try with me. It will be okay." She smiled gently at him. He looked back at her— at her nose, his dark eyes like prison bars— and nodded once.

And they ran.

The sheep bleated loudly and leaped out of their way, like waves of cotton parting before them. Rhen laughed and squeezed Dameon's hand. His lips were pressed together tightly, making a firm, straight line. They changed direction and the sheep scattered again, some running into each other.

"Yah! Yah!" she yelled. "Fear us, sheep!"

Now he was smiling, just a little.

"Yah! Yah!" She laughed and changed direction again. The sheep went every direction to escape; one confused ewe ran in a circle.

"Rhen—" his smile was large now, "this is—"

" _Oi!_ " a red-haired man yelled from the other side of the pasture. "Rhen, I told you _I_ watch the sheep now!" He began running towards them.

"Quick, retreat!" Rhen squealed delightedly.

They ran back into the forest, dodging roots, ducking under branches, and they kept running until the sheep field had faded to a dot in the distance, until they couldn't hear Peter behind them. Laughing and panting, Rhen collapsed against a tree, pulling Dameon down beside her. "That was— so much— fun!" she gasped.

He smiled widely. "I— had fun— too."

"Dameon," she said, leaning her head on his arm. "You're— one— of my best— friends."

He had stiffened at the contact but now he slowly, slowly relaxed.

"You— too."


	5. Me Too

**Me Too**

 _So. Hello there. I still can't write in chronological order, after all this time, so please take this nice little oneshot about Rhen and co spelunking in the Blackbone Caves to rescue Armaiti's soul. And also of course mostly about Rhen and Dameon and their heckin cute little budding friendship._

 _All the other daevas (except Aesma) chose places with historical or spiritual significance to wait for The Chosen One, so I gave the Blackbone Caves a tiny mythology too._

* * *

According to the stories, some ancient evil had made its home in these caves in the old days. The bones of the heroes who'd tried to defeat it were melted into the cave walls, burned and broken and finally fossilized, the black scorch marks serving as a reminder for the ages that once a demon had dwelt here, once death had lived below the mountain. That's why they gave these caves the name Blackbone.

That's what the stories said, but Rhen didn't believe them. Yes, okay, she admitted the formation to her left looked eerily like a ribcage, but there were lots of weird formations in caves. That's just the way caves were. And yes, she took pains to sidestep the uncannily skull-shaped rocks that littered the floor, but definitely not because she thought they _were_ skulls. They just unnerved her, was all.

Te'ijal did not seem unnerved in the least, and had quickly passed the rest of the group, her eyes adjusting to the darkness more readily than theirs. Rhen could still hear her somewhere ahead of them, taking out the rasps and the sickle snakes, and when the passage was particularly long she could see the vampress's outline bounding excitedly from one morbid formation to the next.

Elini, too, seemed to find the charred skeletal rocks fascinating. She was babbling about their possible latent magical abilities with Lars.

Rhen, personally, would rather not hear about all the creepy rocks, thank you very much. She had heard plenty of stories already. There was a traveller who had come through Clearwater sometimes, and for a bit of dinner he'd share the most horrifying tales he'd collected on his adventures. In Rhen's opinion the stories were fifty times better than the real thing.

Because the stories _weren't_ _real._

And that was probably why she had hung back from the rest of the group to walk with Dameon, and why she was now telling him one of the more frightening tales in a low, lively voice. Low, because the caves were dark and full of echoes, lively because it hid the anxious quaver in her throat.

Dameon listened attentively, his eyes wide and round and shimmering softly in the glow of the magic ball of light he held in his hands. He trembled at all the right parts, he made a choked almost-chuckling sound at all the funny ones, and when she got to the end, "And some say the demon still lives in the Blackbone caves to this— _daaay!_ "

— Well, that was when she tripped into him, and the light went out and it was very dark and confused and tangled— and she didn't want to land on those horrid blackened bones so she clutched desperately at what was in front of her— and— when it was all over and he'd managed to make another light he was backed against the cave wall and her hands were fisted in his robes. And now her face was hot, and his was rosy in the yellow glow, and she could feel both of their hearts pounding—

"Hello there," she squeaked, straightening herself and stepping back slightly.

"Hi," he said, still pressed to the side of the cavern. "Are you all right?"

Now her ears were hot, too. "Yes. Sorry, I tripped." She swallowed and managed to say with some levity, "Ruined the end of a perfectly good story, too."

He gave her a small smile and pushed himself off the wall with his elbows. "That's all right. It was maybe more exciting this way."

She felt a grin crack across her face— this was much better than listening to some lecture on demonic tainted objects and their uses in summoning. Speaking of which, Elini was looking back at them with what looked suspiciously like a laugh etched on her face, which was highly insensitive and presumptuous, Rhen thought.

"Where did you hear that story, anyway?" Dameon asked, as they began walking forward again.

Rhen shot him a crooked smile. "Oh, I got it from this adventurer who used to come through Clearwater sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said, and laughed. "It's funny, we all treated him like royalty. We'd have a sort of fair every time he came through town."

"A fair?"

"You know, silly games and baked goods and showing off our apple crop and stuff. He probably thought we were all ridiculous. _I_ think we were."

He gave her an encouraging little nod, a sort of _I see_ , and then cast his eyes down.

"Anyway, he'd always ask Ma to mend some rip in his cloak and he'd tell us stories while she worked. Not _just_ scary stories," she said, in response to his raised eyebrows. "Some ridiculous stories, too, about his pirate lover and wicked goblins and giant squirrels. I always thought they were just made-up." She laughed, a little ruefully. "Guess not."

His light made the shadows dance off the rocks, softening their edges. They looked much friendlier this way.

Everything was quiet for a moment, and then Dameon made a low sound in his throat, and Rhen looked up at him. "I didn't see many travellers in Aveyond," he said shyly, watching the ground. "Nobody… nobody is supposed to know where it is."

She rubbed her arm. These caves were warm. Weren't caves supposed to be cool? "Well," she began carefully, "lucky for me I'm not nobody."

He glanced up briefly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He had full lips like Talia, Rhen had noticed lately.

Also lately she found she liked when he smiled, and she liked to watch the slow grin that grew on his face when she was being silly. How long had it been since someone laughed at her jokes? Oh, she'd been laughed at plenty in the past year, that was for sure, but this was—

Different.

" _I_ know where Aveyond is," she found herself saying, with waggish arrogance, and the other corner of his mouth came up. "I bet that old traveller would be jealous of me," she continued, tossing her head. "I'm a princess, after all." She tried to say it haughtily, but it came out with a bitter edge that scraped her throat— "I'm the chosen one!"

— She meant for him to laugh, but now he watched her sadly. He was supposed to laugh, and then _she_ could laugh and pretend it really didn't bother her at all, maybe she could even pretend it wasn't even real at all, but now instead she just felt—

Wide open.

She looked away and tried to clear her throat. "Er— well, anyway, I bet _he_ never even left the Western Isle."

She could feel his dark eyes on her. They made her gut warm. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Nobody should have to find that out like you did."

She raised her eyes to meet his, and was surprised at the understanding in his gaze. She looked down again. "S'alright," she mumbled, and shrugged. "Anyway, maybe— maybe if it happened differently I never would have met you."

He hesitated, drawing his eyebrows together so there was a little crease between them. "Are you saying— do you— do you think that makes it—-" he paused, and then he finished quietly, timidly, "worth it?"

She felt a soft smile sprout on her lips. She hadn't expected to smile here. "Right now I think so. I'm glad I met you."

The light flickered faintly and the shadows trembled on the walls.

"Rhen?"

She looked up at him.

"Rhen, you— you are the most— I—" he faltered, and finished almost fiercely, "I'm glad I met you, too."

And now Rhen smiled a full smile, not because it was funny but just because she was happy— oh, it had been a long time. She stepped closer to him and his soft yellow light.

"Wanna hear another story?" she asked lowly, her voice trembling now with the opposite of nerves.

And the corner of his mouth quirked up again.


	6. In the Dark

**In the Dark**  
 _Eventually Rhen must leave Clearwater again and get on with her quest. After rescuing Armaiti I always escort him to Aveyond instead of going to Sedona, so that's what I made Rhen's party do here. Rhen tries to convince Devin to go back to Thais and he tells her about her past, and Dameon and Talia have an unpleasant discussion which will be repeated in the short._ _I made them stay the night at the sun temple, which they can't do in-game but which it makes sense for them to do, and I'm the boss of the story so they'll do what I want._

* * *

The rain made a hollow, echoing sound on the stone roof above him. Everyone else was asleep, but he couldn't sleep, not after all that had been said. He was restless, pacing the main room of the Sun Temple, remembering.

 _"My son, have you forgiven me yet?"_

 _She was a_ murderer _. She was_ the _murderer, and a traitor. How could there be forgiveness for such a crime?_

 _"He had to die, you know that."_

 _He wanted to scream. She had taken his hero, his_ father _. And then she had abandoned him, just like she'd abandoned his father's bleeding, dying soul, left them both to suffer alone—_

 _A slender hand touched his elbow, and there was Rhen._

 _"What happened to Dameon's father? Why did he have to die?"_

 _"He was the Sun priest before Dameon. He turned to dark ways and used the powers of the sun to help Ahriman return to power."_

That's how _she_ had put it. Dameon remembered differently. He didn't know a Sun priest. He knew the man who taught him healing spells, who explored Memory Caverns and Teacup Town with him, who brought brightly colored Aveyondian flowers to the Dreamworld for his mother. His _mother_ —

"Dameon?"

He turned, startled, and a flash of lightning illuminated Rhen's face.

"Why are you still up?" she asked, crossing the room and touching his elbow.

He pulled away. He couldn't think when she touched him. He couldn't even breathe. He didn't know why.

"It's nearly dawn," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. The wind picked up and the rain made a more solid, staccato sound above them, like a panicked heartbeat.

"I cannot sleep," he said finally, hoarsely, not looking at her, seeing only his mother's grim face while his father lay dying on the floor.

Thunder crashed above them. Rhen jumped slightly, and shivered. "Me neither."

Something in the way she said it caught at him, pulled him out of the past, and now he looked at her (or at her nose, stubby and slightly upturned). "What's wrong?"

She rubbed her arms, looked shyly at her toes. "I'm afraid for the future."

He nodded. "Me too."

"I don't know anything about being a queen." She was speaking quickly, frightened, vulnerable, her lavender hair falling into her face. "I don't even know what Thais looks like. I— I can't even remember my mother."

He was quiet, thinking. Her mother was not like his mother; Queen Alicia had died for her child, not killed for herself. And yet, both had left their children alone.

"I can't feel anything for Devin. I don't know him."

Not feeling was something he couldn't understand. He felt everything, so harshly it frightened him.

"I am not... ready. I can't do any of this. I will disappoint all _four_ of my parents." She shivered again, and he realized she didn't have thick robes like he did. Slowly, hesitating, he took off his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink and so were his.

"You will catch a cold," he explained.

She nodded. "Thank you."

He swallowed and managed to say, slowly, "You don't... need to be ready... yet. And you can... choose for yourself, when the time... comes. You can... make your own destiny." He paused, suddenly overcome with shyness, and— and— _jealousy_ , and then he blurted, "I think Devin is proud of you."

She looked at him with her wide violet eyes and he couldn't look away. "Thank you, Dameon." She smiled softly. "I think Talia is proud of you, too. She just doesn't know how to express it."

He colored, because he felt angry, and betrayed, and... lost.

Rhen touched his elbow again, and it made his heart leap into his throat but it also grounded him, steadied him. "I... am sorry, about your father."

No one had ever said that. Only Dameon had regretted losing him, only Dameon had mourned. But here was this stubby-nosed warrior who could understand and be sorry, even in the dark.

"Thank you."


	7. Night Watch

**Night Watch**

 _If I actually had to obtain sap from trees to have it in my stories, this piece would have resulted in the obliteration of half the world forests*._

 _Set in the late hours of the night while the party is camping in Wildwoods._ _All the constellations mentioned are references to one of the games. Mostly AP, cuz that's the one I know best, having played it approximately fifty million times. Also the title is totally a reference to AV4, thanks for noticing._

 _*Fortunately, story sap does not need to come from trees and no plants were harmed in the making of this fanfiction._

* * *

It was Rhen's turn to keep watch. Usually they just let Te'ijal keep watch, but the vampress had asked for time to _explore_ , by which she likely meant _hunt_ — but anyway, Elini had woken Rhen up to take her turn about an hour ago, and at first everything had been quiet and uneventful (besides Dameon's soft snoring, and Lars's sitting up suddenly to throw a boot at him before falling back asleep like nothing had happened). But then she'd heard rustling leaves and the sound of cracking twigs from somewhere just beyond the glow of the dying fire.

She hadn't wanted to wake everyone up if it was nothing, so she'd drawn her sword (and the _shhiiish_ of the metal against the scabbard made her heart race) and she'd gone to investigate alone. And now here she was, fumbling through the darkness, looking for who knew what. She was probably going to get attacked before she could even find a place to put her feet—

" _Oof!_ " Her foot found a root and she was careening forward. Her sword went flying and her palms found the forest floor and scraped against the dirt and foliage— whatever it was heard her crash to the ground and dashed away. Probably just an animal, then. Maybe a very lost rabbit.

She pushed herself to her feet and scowled down at her hands. They were bleeding and stinging and had bits of dirt and twig stuck in them. _Stupid, clumsy_. It was going to be hard to hold her sword now, when she found where it had landed. _If_ she could find it, in these woods. She should have woken someone up. She scowled and blew her bangs away from her face. She hated to ask for help, especially for something so trivial, but she had made enough mistakes for one night. She'd better go get somebody.

Probably Dameon. Maybe he wouldn't mind, because he had the next watch anyway. He could probably conjure some kind of light to help her look around. _And_ , he wouldn't scold her or tease her.

So she made her way back to the campsite and managed to find where Dameon's mat was without stepping on everyone else (though she nearly kicked Elini in the head), and she kneeled beside him.

"Dameon," she whispered, and reached out to shake his shoulder—

Except before her hand got there he shifted and his eyes opened, and he was looking at her very seriously, and sitting up. "Is it my watch?"

"Er— no, I—" She hesitated. He was going to think she was _so stupid_ , for waking him up for something so unimportant. She should have just waited for her watch to be over. But he was up now, so she stammered, "I— I need your help."

He blinked.

"I lost my sword," she explained, and pointed at the woods. "There was something moving, and I went to investigate, and I— er, I tripped." She was blushing and he still looked _so serious_. "And I scraped up my hands," she added, holding them up for him to see— _why_ was she mentioning that? She folded her arms and shoved her fingers under her elbows and tried to finish her thought. "So could you— help me?"

She was ashamed to look in his eyes but she didn't have anywhere else to look— but he just nodded, and held out his palms towards her.

She stared at them uncertainly for a moment, until he whispered, "May I see?"

"Er— what?"

He furrowed his eyebrows (he had nice eyebrows, which was a weird thing to think but there it was). "Your hands. You said they were injured?"

"Oh— er— yes," she stammered. "But I meant— I didn't expect— well— I guess— here," she finished defeatedly, and put her hands, palms up, in his. She guessed they could look for her sword later.

He had long, graceful fingers that made her hands look like they belonged to a dwarf, a _clumsy_ dwarf, because they were all scratched up, and she felt very self-conscious and stupid. And burdensome— _why_ had she not just waited? "Sorry about waking you up for this. I— should have let you sleep."

"I don't mind," he whispered back, now holding her hands— her clumsy dwarf hands— in one of his so he could use the other to pull out his waterskin. "This is my job, isn't it?"

She tried to feel guilty, for making him feel like he was _expected_ to do things like this, but he had a soft sort of voice and she just felt soothed.

He poured the cold water from his waterskin over her hands and rubbed her palms gently, cleaning off the dirt and blood, and she shivered and thought that his eyes were very dark, and that his long, long fingers were warm, and that they fit around hers kind of nicely, and somehow what she decided to say from all of this was, "You have very big hands."

He glanced up at her and it seemed like his ears were pink. "I guess I do, compared to yours," he said, putting the water away now, and drying her hands with his sleeve.

He started whispering one of his spells and she looked up at the sky and wondered why she had to be so awkward. If she _had_ to be tasked with saving the world and ruling a country and all that nonsense, she at least could have been fortunate enough to have a little natural tact, a little innate charm. _Something_.

"Are you looking at Serendipity?" Dameon whispered, letting go of her now-healed hands and gesturing up at a group of stars. "The sort of diamond shape?"

"That's supposed to be Serendipity? The Nymph of Luck?"

He smiled. "Yes."

Rhen stifled a laugh. "She looks like a box."

Dameon made a sound that seemed almost like a chuckle, which made her blush for whatever reason. She cleared her throat and scanned the sky— the stars _were_ kind of pretty, and comfortable, somehow. They were always the same. Constant. "What else is up there?"

He shifted next to her. "Well... there's Eliza Stoneheart." He traced a few seemingly random stars with his finger— which looked very elegant, silhouetted against the night sky.

"Hmm." That was a strange name. "Was she a dwarf?"

"What?" He looked at her and then back at the sky. "No, she was a warrior. Like you."

"Oh." Rhen felt herself blushing, and she wasn't sure if Dameon could tell in the dark. "Why did they call her Stoneheart? Was she cruel?"

He crinkled his eyebrows again, which was nice. "I don't know."

Rhen looked up at the stars he had traced, and she thought they looked very far away. Sort of solitary, and... and maybe a little sad. "Perhaps," she began uncertainly. "Perhaps she was really kind. And she was just... just lonely."

He looked at her and there was a sort of softness in his eyes. "Maybe."

And maybe Eliza Stoneheart was lonely, but Rhen wasn't, not right now, with Dameon sitting beside her talking quietly about things that didn't matter a bit.

"Is there anything over that way?" she asked, pointing.

He followed her gesture and tilted his head. "I think... do you see the triangular shape? With the line through it?"

She moved closer to him to see where he was pointing— and she felt warm. "Yeah, I think so."

He continued slowly, "I think that one is Yeccanuath, the mother of the Tehyor dragons."

"Hmm." Yeccanuath was big, and bright, and— "She looks more like one of Te'ijal's arrows."

He smiled at her, and shook his head. "There's also Squeakerbane." He was pointing at an arching line of stars. "The rooster."

She tried not to laugh. "The _rooster?_ "

"Yes."

"Why is there a _rooster_ constellation?"

"Well," he began hesitantly, "he was supposedly a scholar."

This time she really did laugh— but still quietly. "What, was he the scholar of chicken-scratch penmanship?"

Dameon smiled and she found herself trying to think of something else funny to say. "Professor of the most annoying morning sounds? Disciple of eggheads?"

He smiled wider and she couldn't stop herself. "Or maybe," she waggled her eyebrows, and leaned closer to him, so that their noses almost touched— "an expert on _fowl_ love?"

He laughed, but it came out all choked, and his eyes were wide and his face was red, red, red— she pulled away from him. What was she _doing?_ She felt very warm, and he was warm, and— and the stars were very, very bright.

And even though she knew they were far, far away, they seemed to be right there with her, shining with the opposite of solitude.

"What— what other constellations are there?"

He was quiet, and still red, but in a comfortable way, and his dark eyes were searching the sky.

"There's the glass coffin, here," he pointed. "The rectangle with the point at the end."

She leaned towards him, slowly and carefully this time, and found the shape he described.

"A coffin?" she asked, smiling maybe because it was funny, or maybe because it was bright.

"It sounds sort of morbid, doesn't it?" he said, and smiled too. "It goes with an old story about a sleeping princess."

"Mmm."

It was pretty, and she felt warm, and also— safe, maybe, and—

She yawned. "I wish I were a sleeping princess."

He touched her arm, just barely, and said, looking at her with that serious expression that was becoming familiar, "Why don't you go to bed? I can finish your watch."

She looked back at him. "Are you sure?"

He nodded once. "Of course."

She tried to refuse, to do what she was supposed to do, and finish what was expected of her— but the starlight sparkled timidly in his eyes, and instead she whispered, "Okay. Thank you, Dameon."

And she crawled to where her mat was, and settled into it, and watched the outline of Dameon scan the campsite, and stir the fire, and move in and out of the stars, like he belonged to them—

And she fell asleep, and completely forgot about looking for her stupid sword.

But when she woke up in the morning it was by her mat, and Dameon was picking twigs out of his hair.


	8. At a Loss

**At a Loss**

 _I have made the executive decision that after Rhen and co bring the druid from the Western Isle to Aveyond, they go to the Eastern Isle to search for Danny; Rhen just got that message from his mother and she is worried about him. They find Danny in Ghed'ahre, laying down on a vampire's table._

 _Most of this dialogue comes from the game._

* * *

Dameon couldn't understand the— _feelings_ that were making his heart pound and his head spin, but he knew that he did _not_ like the short man who was sprawled across the vampire's table. Sure, he looked unassuming enough, but something in the way Rhen cried "Danny! What have they done to you?" made Dameon's throat tighten, and his stomach coiled painfully as she explained distractedly, "He's a boy from my village."

Lars thought the man was dead, but Te'ijal said he wasn't, and Rhen stuck a cassia leaf in his mouth, holding his head gently, hands trembling, and Dameon felt his chest constrict like he'd been punched, or like he was falling. He did _not_ like this Danny—

"Ugh... my head," Danny was groaning, rubbing his temples, and Rhen was grabbing his shoulders, and Dameon's chest was tight and shaking—

"Danny, what are you doing here?" Rhen demanded. "Your mother is worried sick about you!"

But Danny only groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, and Rhen threw Dameon a frightened, pleading look that muddled everything even more, and he stepped forward to mutter some healing spells over the man's head.

Finally, Danny raised his eyes to meet Rhen's, and reached out to take her hands. "Rhen, is that you? I've been looking for you for so long..."

Dameon swallowed hard and forced himself to look away.

"How did you get here?" Rhen was asking Danny, and Dameon's hands clenched into fists.

"I came looking for you after you disappeared from the village," Danny explained.

 _Had he known her that long? Had they been that close? Were they still_ —

Dameon realized his nails were cutting into his palms, and he tried to relax. But he couldn't, because Danny was saying to Rhen, "Come, I must get you home safe," and Dameon felt a _very_ familiar feeling, the panicked, desperate feeling of losing someone—

"I am perfectly fine and I can't go home yet," Rhen said firmly, and the panic dropped away from him, jarringly, replaced by something new and sturdy, and shaky and terrifying. And Rhen was continuing, "You had best hurry there yourself."

"You don't _want_ to go back?" Danny asked incredulously, and Dameon looked at Rhen again, hardly knowing that he did it. She had let go of Danny's hands and was clutching at her braid.

"I can't. I just can't," she said sadly, and Dameon felt an entirely new and confounding urge to stroke her hair. "Please don't ask me more."

Dameon had opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but Danny spoke first.

"I think I'm not ready to go back to Clearwater either. I've grown fond of traveling the world. I think I will continue to explore the isles for a while."

Rhen stared at him miserably but Dameon noticed more than Danny did, because Danny was reaching into his pocket and pulling a crumpled letter out. "Please," he said, extending the letter to Rhen, "give this to my mother, will you?"

Rhen took the paper in shaking hands, and Dameon thought she might cry but she didn't. She rarely did. She opened and closed her mouth, soundlessly, and Danny put his hands over hers, smiling, talking to her. Dameon's head was spinning again and his chest hurt. He wanted to push Danny away—

"I'm sorry, Rhen," Danny was saying, taking his hands from Rhen's and straightening a small pack on his shoulder, "but I must leave you now." He turned away, and walked towards the door. Rhen stared after him, her small mouth hanging open, her purple eyes shining with tears which didn't fall.

"Wait!" she choked, her hand stretched out towards him (and Dameon felt his stomach curling into tight, writhing knots). "Where are you going?"

Danny turned briefly and said, "Sedona, I think. Yes, Sedona." And he walked out, leaving Rhen still standing by the table, eyes wide. This, Dameon understood. This was the panicked, desperate feeling of losing someone—

"I'm sorry, Rhen," he found himself saying, hesitantly reaching for her shoulder—

Suddenly her head was on _his_ shoulder, and she was trembling like she was going to cry— maybe she _was_ crying, but he couldn't see her face. Her arms were around his neck and his heart was trying to break out of his ribcage, and this was _definitely not_ something he understood. Lars was rolling his eyes, and Elini and Te'ijal were snickering. But Dameon couldn't let Rhen cry, so he wrapped his arms around her, too, and the shaking in his gut was unfamiliar and frightening and wonderful.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again, clumsily. He wasn't sorry Danny had left but he was sorry for how it hurt her. He was sorry she'd ever had to leave home and sorry for the way everyone expected everything of her. And he was sorry that he couldn't heal her aching heart, nothing could heal loss, he'd tried. He was sorry that all he could do was hold her and apologize.

He held her until she stopped trembling and raised her head from his shoulder to wipe her eyes on her arm, until she glared around at everyone and muttered, "Time to go," and plodded out of the house, leaving him still standing by the table with empty, useless arms and the terrifying realization that Rhen Darzon had become someone he could lose.


	9. A Little Help

**A Little Help**

 _So, for this piece, I wanted to show how Rhen helps Dameon change. I don't think, before her, he had much opportunity to show compassion. I don't think he really had anyone who could show him what compassion was. But I think most people are naturally compassionate, if they are brave enough. And the lovely thing about love is how it makes people brave. Also, Dameon is totally a morning person, and Rhen is totally not._

 _This piece assumes that the party camps between Dirkon and Sedona, and the story starts as Rhen is waking up in the morning._

* * *

It was still dark, but she could tell that Dameon was awake because he had re-lit the fire and was cooking over it. Also, he had stubbed his toe at least seven times already, and he wasn't a quiet toe-stubber.

After the seventh time she grudgingly opened her eyes. Dameon was sitting by the fire, stirring something— probably oatmeal. It was almost always oatmeal. Elini was sitting up on her mat, brushing through her hair. Lars was still lying down, but he had his eyes open and was glaring at Dameon. Te'ijal was apparently still out hunting somewhere.

The sun was starting to peak over the hills in the distance, so Rhen sat up and started feeling around for her bag. She didn't want to get up. Yesterday had been long. The travelers had found a poor little town called Dirkon that was infected with the plague, and they decided to stay and try to help even though they really should have gone on to Sedona. Actually it had been Rhen's idea to stay, but that didn't make her happy about it.

They had ended up having to kill a bunch of rats. Rhen hated rats. Then Dameon had healed the villagers as much as he could, but he didn't have any spells for the plague ("I told you so," Lars had gloated, and he _had_ told them so, but that didn't mean she wanted to hear about it). Then, even though the day was nearly gone, they had tried to make it to Sedona to get some stupid elixirs.

But it had started to get dark before they were close, and Elini had insisted they set up camp for the night. Rhen was glad she did. She had been so tired. She was _still_ so tired. Blast it, where was her stupid bag? She groaned and plopped back down onto her mat. It was too dark; she couldn't find anything and she hated it. Hate, hate, hate—

Oh, there it was. By her foot. She sat up again and pulled it towards her, rummaged around in it for her brush. _Ugh_. She didn't want to do her hair today. Her arms were sore. She was tired. _Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh_.

She found her brush and tried to drag it through her hair— _why_ was it such a mess? Couldn't it ever cooperate, just a bit? Her efforts were useless and painful. _Ergh_. She growled and pushed her bag aside, stood up, and stomped over to Dameon.

He glanced up at her as she approached and she thought she saw a nervous look flash across his face, softening his eyes, but it was hard to tell in the firelight.

"Hi, Rhen," he said in his low, rough morning voice. "How did you sleep?"

The quiet way he talked always soothed her and she felt stupid for being so irritable now. But she still didn't want to do her hair, so she held out the brush to him. "Er... Would you mind doing my hair, um... again?"

He had done it several times since that first time in Brumwich. Actually he was getting pretty good at it. And it was nice, sometimes, to let somebody else worry about what the back of her head looked like.

He smiled and laughed softly. She didn't know how he could be so dang cheerful in the morning. But he was standing up and taking the brush from her, so she didn't mind.

"Do you want to sit down somewhere?" he asked her, and she realized that she did. She had seen a pile of rocks just at the edge of the campsite the night before. She took his hand and led him to them (and she could tell that his face was flushing, even in the feeble morning light).

They sat down and he combed through her hair. He was always so much gentler about it than her. Sometimes she would sigh exasperatedly and inform him that her scalp was not made of glass. But sometimes it was nice. Like now. Now it was nice.

"It feels good to just sit like this," Dameon was saying, "after everything that happened yesterday."

"Mmhm," Rhen agreed, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of all the tangles coming out of her hair while her arms rested motionless in her lap.

"I could tell it was especially hard for you. I..." he paused long enough for Rhen to wonder if he had changed his mind about speaking, then continued, "I couldn't figure out why you wanted to stay."

"Hm," she grunted. She wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"I know you hate rats," he said, now bracing her head with his hand to work on one of the more stubborn tangles. She _did_ hate rats, but she liked the feel of his fingers in her hair.

"I just don't understand why you offered to help," he continued.

She was starting to feel a little judged. "Well, I— well— should I _not_ have?"

"Oh, no! That isn't what I meant," he said, fumbling with the brush. "I just— I was merely curious."

"Oh," she said. She wasn't sure how to answer him. Why _did_ she offer to help? She had never met any of those people before. Probably they wouldn't even say thank you. Maybe they'd end up dying anyway. And she really, really did hate rats. "I... I guess I just saw that they needed us."

He was quiet for a moment. He handed her the brush so he could braid her hair, and it really was nice to just sit and be taken care of.

"I guess no one—" he cleared his throat nervously. "No one else was going to help them, were they?"

"I guess," she said, picking at the bristles of the brush. She had some experience in having no one to help her. It was a lonely place to be. "Erm... Dameon?" she said squeakily, suddenly feeling shy.

"Yes?" he said, his hand brushing her ear as he reached for a loose piece of hair.

"Thank you for— for wanting to help _me_."

"Oh! Well that's— it isn't any—" he cleared his throat again. "My pleasure, Rhen. Um— do you have— do you have the tie?"

"Er— what?" She was too flustered to think what he meant.

"For your— for your hair," he explained.

"Oh," she said, smiling because she felt silly. "Yes, here it is." She tried to untie it from her wrist, but her hands were shaking and she couldn't get at the little knot, and— _Urgh!_ She huffed and pulled it over her wrist, which squished her fingers and stretched out the fabric but it was _off_ —

"Thank you," he said, taking it from her. His hands were shaking, too. "Rhen?" he said, as he looped the ribbon around the end of her hair. "Thank you for— for wanting to take care of everyone else. All the people who— who don't have anyone. It— it means a lot to me."

He finished tying the end of her braid and dropped it gently onto her back. She turned around to smile at him. "My pleasure, Dameon," she said. Then she frowned because she smelled... smoke? "Er... how long has the oatmeal been on?"

The contents of the pot over the fire suddenly burst into flames, and Dameon looked at her sheepishly. "Um... long enough..."


	10. The Opposite of Solitude

**The Opposite of Solitude**

 _Because Rhen learns a lot from Dameon, too._

 _Set in one of those little forest clearings in the Peninsula; Rhen has been injured by an orc and Dameon is fixing her up. Also Dameon is so much like Talia I just T.T_

 _Lastly, the title is a reference to a related moment in "Night Watch" (ch 7) and of course to Rhen's question in "Golden" (ch 43)._

* * *

He knew how to heal the particularly gruesome wounds that came from Orcish weapons. Theoretically, he knew how to heal any kind of wound which could be inflicted. He had long since memorized the cures for every affliction known to humanity. When he was young his father had read to him from the ancient texts, books written by the first Sun Priests, books about the theory of light magic and the appropriate herbs and tonics for every misfortune. It was a healer's work to fight fate, to restore life where death had whispered, and he had trained for this responsibility since he was a child.

Theoretically, he had been preparing for this moment his entire life.

In reality? His hands were shaking.

There was blood everywhere— he knew how to take care of that, he was kneeling and cleaning the wound that stretched across Rhen's shoulders, staunching the flow even though his fingers trembled. His lips were forming around the words that would knit the tissue together again. Muscle memory. He had prepared for this work his whole life— and no, it wasn't the same as reading about it, it wasn't the same when his heart was pounding and his confidence wavering, when life hung in the balance and his mind was cruelly replaying that one memory that defined him, that night in the Tear Shrine with his father and his _mother_ and the fates that tipped the scales the wrong way—

It wasn't the same, but he knew the words he was supposed to say. He knew the process. He could get through it.

But he didn't have any precedence for the twisting in his chest when he saw the scars on her back.

"Rhen," he fretted. "Rhen. What are these?" He traced the scar tissue, lightly. Her shoulders tensed anyway. He was holding his breath.

"What are what?" She clutched her pack in front of her tightly. Elini had given it to her before ushering everyone out of the little clearing, saying it would be good to have something to squeeze if the healing hurt. Dameon hoped it didn't hurt.

"These scars. When did you get them? Why didn't you tell me? I could have— It is my job. I could have done something."

Her shoulders shrugged. "Those are very old, Dameon."

"I…" He remembered, suddenly, that lock of hair that wasn't red, and he imagined the ship, and the market, and the Tenebors— there were freckles scattered on her shoulders between the scars, like wildflowers growing anywhere they could. He swallowed. He shifted on his knees so he could see her face, and slowly met her gaze.

"Rhen." It came out a little strangled. Her violet eyes saw straight through him. He had spent weeks and months trying not to look at them, but this time, for the first time, he wanted to be seen.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault. Let me try to fix this. Please? Will you let me try to heal these?"

She blinked, and watched him steadily. "You didn't put the scars there, Dameon."

He wanted to hide. Or run. Instead he held her gaze and stammered, "I didn't know. I didn't want this, for— for anyone." Not even _that_ woman— and he hated himself for it. "Please, let me try? Let me try to make this better?"

She looked away. "It's kind of you to worry. But you can't change what happened. You can't heal the real wounds."

"I know," he choked, and paused to find his breath. "I _know._ " He was rolling the ends of his sleeves in his fingers. They would fray if he didn't stop. His father would have scolded him, if he was— _here_.

"There are hurts beyond magic and medicine. There are pains I can never ease. I _know_ it," he swallowed again, choked down the memory and everything that came with it, "and I'm sorry. Let me do what I can. Please. Let me help with this."

Her eyes were still angled down, and her long eyelashes cast dramatic shadows over her face. "Why?"

His sleeves were going to be tattered rags. Because he felt responsible. Because it was his job. Because he was lonely. Because… Because...

"I want to be... your friend."

She had told him, more than once now, that they were friends. He didn't know how to believe her. _Friends_ had never been a part of his studies, it was not a concept covered in Ajo's 101 Magical Remedies. Maybe— maybe he had been friends with some of the binis, when he was a child. He had never used that word, he wasn't sure he'd known it. But Morsel would sing songs for him, sometimes, loudly, off-key, laughing the whole time. That was something friends did.

Wasn't it?

And Lambchop would collect useless sparkling things for him, buttons or broken pieces of pottery or other similarly worthless scraps. He got them from the travelling sales squirrels. Dameon had never been allowed to visit Teacup Town when the squirrels were there. Maybe that's why he'd kept all those silly artifacts tucked carefully under his bed.

He didn't know if they were still there. And he couldn't remember when he had stopped visiting Teacup Town, or why. He just hadn't. And after— after _that_ night, it was pointless. Everything was pointless. This was all ridiculous, why was he even thinking about it, why had he said anything at all—

"Dameon."

He looked up and his eyes met hers again. She smiled gently. "You _are_ my friend. And I will let you help me." Her long eyelashes fluttered almost shyly, and then she touched his wrist. "I almost forgot that's part of this friend thing. It's been a while. So— thank you."

He blinked. "Thank— thank you," he stammered awkwardly, and felt his ears get hot— this was not how friends were supposed to be—

But her cheeks were pink too, and she was still smiling at him. He smiled back, and pivoted on his knees to begin his work.

Scars were not like wounds. Wounds were where death threatened. Scars were where the body remembered. He couldn't erase the memory, only change it. He had to open it again, carefully, gently, slowly. Examine it, learn it, know it. Smooth out all the angry edges, knit the pieces together again, in whatever way they fit now. Close it up again. A memory still, the body knew where it had been cut open, but now it knew too where it had been put together.

Rhen laughed softly when it was over, and rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt like he was being split open in all the places he'd tried so desperately to close himself off.

Having a friend was like…

Healing.


	11. Getting a Place

**_Getting A Place_**

 _This piece happens at Lord Gavin's summer ball in Sedona. A lot of writers assume only Rhen goes to the ball because only Rhen buys clothes for it. I think this is reasonable, but I decided to have them all go for plot purposes and because of this line from Lord Pemberlin: "I am trying to sell my manor. Would you young **nobles** be interested?"_

* * *

She wanted a manor because it would be cheaper than staying at inns all the time ( _she just wanted a place to call home, a place that fit this new Rhen she was getting to know_ ). They needed a place to store all the stuff they were collecting ( _somewhere old memories wouldn't feel so heavy, somewhere new memories could be made without tying that strange guilty knot in her stomach_ ). And— and she wanted to have pets.

So that's why she was at Lord Gavin's summer ball in a stiff, itchy green dress that clashed horribly with her hair, trying to find a noble name Pemberlin who, for all she could tell, had dropped off the face of Aia sometime that morning. The rest of her party was supposed to be helping her, but Elini was busy convincing a group of single noblemen that they weren't her type. Lars and Dameon had left to find some stupid truffles for the chef. And Te'ijal was somewhere, hopefully not terrorizing any children or anything, but Rhen really didn't know, honestly.

She glanced around the ballroom for a man who looked like he was trying to sell something, but all she could find were frenzied maids and nobles dressed in ridiculously bright colors swirling about to the tempo of a minuet. She was going to have to ask someone. She caught sight of a woman who looked unoccupied, and approached her.

"Hello," Rhen said.

The woman smiled. "Hello! Isn't the ball wonderful?"

"Er— I suppose so," Rhen said reluctantly. "Have you seen—"

"Have you seen the two young men who just entered? Nobody knows who they are! They must be from some far away kingdom!"

"Er—"

"You should come with me to welcome them!"

"Well, actually I was wondering if you knew—"

"Oh, don't be shy! Come, come!"

"Oh!" Rhen said as the woman took her arm and dragged her towards the dining room, where Elini was still talking to those same noblemen. Why did these things always happen to her? Well, maybe one of the young men would know Pemberlin. It was possible.

"Welcome to the ball!" the lady said, stopping in front of...

Lars and Dameon. "I am Lady Lomone! And this is—" she turned to Rhen expectantly.

"Hi guys," Rhen said, turning red. Lars snickered, but Dameon took her hand and kissed it.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," he said, smiling and making her cheeks feel hot.

Lady Lomone took a moment to look surprised and confused, but she quickly grinned and offered her own hand to Lars. "It seems Lady Higuys and your friend are already getting along very well. Perhaps we could do the same?"

Lars stopped laughing and stared at her. "What— I— perhaps," he said, drawing himself up. "But you are to understand that I will not be teased, flattered, or cajoled into anything— _hey!_ "

The lady had taken his arm and was dragging him to the ballroom, laughing and smiling and most definitely teasing and flattering and cajoling.

"That was... interesting," Dameon said as they disappeared into the crowd of dancing nobles. "Where did you meet her?"

Rhen grunted and pressed her face into his sleeve. He patted her back consolingly.

"Did you find Lord Pemberlin?"

"No!" she said, looking up at him now. "I can't find anyone at this stinking ball! And this dress is so scratchy and hot!"

"I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "Would you like to go outside for a moment?"

"No," she said, and pouted. "I want to buy a manor."

He smiled gently. "I have never met anyone as determined as you."

She looked down again. "Well— thanks."

He held out his hand. "Come on, we'll find Pemberlin together."

And they did. It turned out Pemberlin was walking around near the back of the ballroom, talking about his manor to anyone who would listen— and Rhen and Dameon were very willing to listen. He sold the house to them for 5000 gold, which used to seem an unfathomable price to Rhen, _highway robbery_ , she would have called it before. But now she agreed to the price without even attempting to haggle. If Elini had been there, they might have spent a bit less, but it was worth it to Rhen. She had a manor now, she had a _place!_

"I'm just so excited!" she was telling Dameon as they went back towards the dining room to try the truffles that were now being offered. And he was nodding and smiling at her, and the lights in the ballroom seemed brighter than before and the music was like an enchantment—

And then suddenly he wasn't beside her anymore, he had stopped cold, staring straight ahead with wide brown eyes.

"Are... are you all right?" Rhen asked, turning her head half-looking to find the cause of his distress.

He hesitated. "I— I know this waltz," he said slowly. "My... parents... used to— used to—" he shook his head. "I'd rather... It's not important."

His eyes were shining and his voice was shaking, just slightly. Rhen touched his elbow. "Hey," she said. "I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

He looked at her and then at the ground. "It's just— they— my parents— used to dance to this. In the Tear Shrine. And they seemed... so... happy. We used to be... happy. We used to— it—" He seemed to choke and he hid his face in his hands.

"Hey," she soothed, rubbing his arm, "hey. It's okay. I understand. My family used to be— happy— too."

She was surprised to hear herself say it. Her family was _still_ happy... wasn't it? Mostly? Except for her, perhaps. She didn't fit exactly where she used to. Everything was different now, and— and—

"Dameon," she said, moving his hands and taking hold of his face. "Dameon, let's find a way to be happy _now._ Why don't we make new memories? Why— why don't you dance with me?"

He looked at her with his brown eyes— still shining— and nodded once. "Okay."

He put his hand on her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder, and slowly they began to move across the floor.

"I— haven't waltzed much before," he said shyly, watching their feet.

"Me neither," she said. "But I think it goes— two, three— three— or one— Well," she smiled up at him, "you just move your feet and I'll follow."

And that's what they did. She took a moment to hear the music. It was slow and sweet, not at all familiar to her, but it sounded like it came from some little town somewhere in the world. There was something magical about it, like maybe a fairy or an elf had played it once. Like maybe it was as old as the trees. Like maybe—

But Dameon was smiling down at her, and his dark eyes were sparkling with something that wasn't tears this time, and she didn't care where the music came from as long as it kept coming. She didn't care, for a moment, about how everything _used_ to be, because it had all brought her here and this was something she was going to remember. She didn't feel guilty or out of place. She didn't have a sword on her back or a shield on her arm, but Dameon's hand rested lightly at her side and her feet moved with his and she was safe.

And she was happy.


	12. Covey Balm

**_Covey Balm_**

 _BEWARE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE! Fluff ahead._

 _This piece happens soon after the party purchases the manor in Sedona and after Galahad has officially joined the group as Rhen's champion (so the assassin thief quest is already completed). It happens before/during most of the in-game manor conversations we see between the characters. You'll see, it should be pretty obvious. Enjoy! (Or suffer from the excessive sweetness, whichever!)_

* * *

Her first mistake was letting Galahad accompany the party in the first place. After all, she didn't really _need_ anything from the king's treasury. Her only excuse was that she tended to be impulsive, and somebody should have stopped her. Also, she had thought she'd seen Te'ijal nod at her. So either she was crazy, or _Te'ijal_ was crazy.

Her second mistake was asking the paladin to train with her in the practice yard. She'd had to take down quite few orcs before he would accept her as a capable opponent, and this should have been a warning to her, but _no_. She had been stubborn, and now she was paying for it.

Her third mistake was— well— well—

She really, really hadn't meant to hurt the paladin— but he was so— arrogant! He'd gone on and on about— protecting her from who knew what, and— how she should pay more attention when sparring— and not show off so much—

And she guessed she'd gotten a little carried away, or a _lot_ , because now Galahad was on the ground hollering for a healer, and she was frantically trying to wrap his bleeding leg with a cloth the yardmaster had handed her, but she had never been very good at this—

"Please, maiden! Get a healer!" Galahad yelled again, but Dameon was out buying supplies with Lars, and she couldn't _carry_ the paladin, not in all his armor—

"Galahad, please be calm—" she tried to say soothingly, like Dameon would, but she didn't have his quiet composure, she couldn't even soothe herself—

"I require medical attention!"

"I know, I'm trying—"

"What is going on over here?" snapped a voice from somewhere behind her, and then, before Rhen could look to see who it was, another, milder voice was saying—

"Rhen, what happened?"

It was Lars and Dameon— the latter was shoving the packages he was carrying into Lars' hands, and then running toward her, and she felt relieved and very, very embarrassed—

"Er— I—" she tried to explain, and Lars interrupted—

"You _wounded_ him, didn't you?"

"I— not on purpose!"

Dameon knelt beside her "It's okay, Rhen," he said in that absurdly patient voice she was growing to depend on. "We can fix this."

"Sun Priest!" Galahad said, seizing Dameon's hands. "I beg your assistance, though I am not worthy—"

"Don't worry, Sir Galahad," Dameon said soothingly, pulling his hands back, taking the cloth from Rhen. "You are going to be fine."

"Thank you—" Galahad grunted, while Dameon folded the cloth and wrapped it expertly around the paladin's wound, and Rhen wondered— why couldn't she ever get that knot right?

"I need to clean this before I can do any healing," Dameon was saying. "We'll have to carry him back to the manor. Rhen, can you—"

"He's too heavy," Rhen said miserably. "I can't lift him."

Dameon looked at her with a confused little frown, and Lars snorted, "You can _both_ carry him."

She felt her face turn red, and managed a somewhat dignified, "Oh."

Dameon's fingers brushed her arm and he smiled reassuringly. "Can you get his legs?"

Rhen nodded and moved to lift Galahad's knees while Dameon lifted his torso.

"Careful, please—" Galahad gasped.

"Sorry," Rhen mumbled— when it came to wounds, she was entirely and perfectly useless. She was probably going to end up making it worse. Lars should be helping with this, he was better at it—

Dameon glanced at her and then down at Galahad. "You're doing fine," he said, and Rhen wasn't sure if he was talking to Galahad or to her, but Galahad looked less anxious and she felt less flustered.

Lars led the way to the manor, shouting "Out of the way!" at anyone who even looked towards them, and snapping directions at Dameon like, "Left! Left! There's a gate," and, "Step up! Don't you remember the stair?"

Elini and Te'ijal were standing in the hallway inside, and Rhen could just barely see their gaping faces over Dameon's shoulder.

"What happened?" Te'ijal asked, stepping around Elini to hover over Galahad—

"Stay away from me, dark creature!" Galahad yelled, twisting violently and almost kicking Rhen in the face.

"You're bleeding!" Te'ijal said, ignoring the knight's protests. "You smell intoxicating—"

"Not now, Te'ijal," Dameon interrupted, stepping farther into the manor and moving so that he was between the vampress and the paladin— which put Rhen against the far wall. "I need to clean his wound—"

"Why don't you come and get water with me?" Elini suggested, gingerly taking Te'ijal's arm to lead her towards the door.

To everyone's relief, but most especially to Galahad's, Te'ijal followed Elini, and turned back only long enough to say, "Don't let him bleed out, humans. His heartbeat is like a frightened rabbit's."

Lars rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we won't," he yelled after them. Then, looking at Dameon, "I guess I can get rags. Try not to run into the door frame, Sun Priest."

Dameon sighed and said to the sorcerer's retreating back, "Of course, Lars."

"Vile, wicked woman—" Galahad was muttering. "Horrid, unfeeling—"

Rhen thought she saw Dameon flash her a half-smile, but then he was saying "Don't worry, Galahad, you're not going to bleed out," and he was craning his neck to look behind himself and stepping backwards down the hall towards the room designated as Galahad's.

He only almost hit his head on the door frame. They managed to maneuver through it, and then laid the paladin on the bed. Dameon started undoing the bandage and Rhen stood there uselessly for a minute, watching his nimble fingers working at the knot. He was frowning in concentration, and the sunlight streaming through the window glinted off his headband and blinded her for an eternity— or at least a very bewildering thirty seconds. Then he shifted and she could see again, and she noticed how the sun also made his face glow and scattered gold flecks through his eyes, and it was really sort of... lovely. A stray lock of hair fell into his face, and Rhen reached out to brush it away—

He looked up at her, lips parted in surprise, and she quickly drew her hand away again, embarrassed.

"Er... I was just trying to... help," she explained feebly.

He looked back down and nodded, and she thought his hands seemed more clumsy than just a moment before.

Galahad grunted. "Covey balm— would help—"

"Oh— okay," Rhen said. "Er... I can... get that." She tried not to run from the room but she basically did, and she shut the door behind her with a _click_ that was nearly a _bang_. Her heart was beating fast— _like a frightened rabbit's_ , Te'ijal would say— and her face felt hot, she just _knew_ it was red, bright red—

 _Covey balm_ , she was supposed to find covey balm. She started down the hall and wondered when it had gotten _so hot_ inside, and why it was so difficult to get a breath— Galahad hadn't been _that_ heavy— and she couldn't stop seeing Dameon's surprised face, glowing in the light from the window—

"Good day, sword singer," Elini greeted, and Rhen whirled around to face her. "You look like you've been spending too much time in the sun," the summoner said with a wink, and then turned into Galahad's room carrying the bucket of water she'd gotten for Dameon—

 _Too much time in the sun_ , what was _that_ supposed to mean? Unless...

She was definitely reading too much into this. Elini just meant she looked sunburned, and she probably did. And it wasn't time to think about this right now, she needed to get covey balm.

Where did they keep covey balm, anyway? On the Eastern Isle she'd always had some in her pack, but with Dameon there— well, she hadn't used a tin of covey balm in a while. Maybe— maybe there was some in Dameon's pack?

She slapped her forehead because she was so dense sometimes, and headed down the hall and turned in to Dameon's room.

He always kept everything so tidy. She didn't know how he kept up with it. Her own room was sometimes tidy, but usually— not so much. But his room— the bed was made and the covers were even turned down, like at the fancier inns they stopped at. His stuff was neatly placed on the shelves, and his laundry was folded nicely in a corner. She didn't _mean_ to think it, but it occurred to her how weird it was that somebody who kept his room in such an orderly state could have a quarrel with his mother.

She found his pack on the lowest shelf and looked through it, trying not to pry too much but noticing that he kept mostly healing items in it. Cassia leaves, marsh tea, tinctura hypericum— and really, wasn't it strange how somebody so attentive to everyone else's injuries could be so hostile towards the woman who'd raised him?

She tried not to think about their fight; it wasn't any of her business. But it clearly bothered _him_. She remembered the last time they went to Aveyond. She had seen how his face changed when his mother came in sight— it hadn't glowed then— and she'd heard the bitterness in his voice when he asked how he could forgive the person who'd killed his father.

If someone had taken Rhen's Pa she would— she would end them, of course. There would be no one left to be angry at.

But— would it help, in the long run? Vengeance couldn't bring back the dead. Anger had no healing power. Anger, she guessed, was the one thing Dameon kept with himself that wasn't curative. And she couldn't help but think— as her fingers finally closed around a tin of covey balm— that a grudge like that must be a painful thing to carry around. She wished she knew a way to fix it.

She tried to put everything back neatly, and hurried back towards Galahad's room with the covey balm. But as she got there, the door swung open and Lars stepped out. He smirked at her, as usual, as he closed the door behind him. And then he frowned, which was different.

He cleared his throat. "I... I wanted to apologize for being so horrible to you."

Her first response, which she suppressed, was to laugh. Because it was funny to think of _Lars Tenebor_ apologizing for anything. And her second response was to feel... the opposite of bitter. It was like some old weight she had forgotten she carried was gone. She guessed she forgave him— she'd lived, hadn't she? And it was over now, and it was all right to stop hanging on to it and to move forward.

So instead of laughing, she smiled, and said, "Thank you Lars," and she thought that if anger was a hurt, then forgiveness must be the balm.

Lars nodded and stepped around her to head towards the library, and she pushed Galahad's door open and entered the room.

Dameon had found a chair somewhere, and was sitting on it while pressing wet cloths to Galahad's wound. His hair had fallen into his face again, and one stubborn little piece stayed in his eyes even when he looked up at her. She wanted to brush it away, and as she came up by the chair her hand twitched at her side— but she stopped herself, and said, "Er— I brought the covey balm."

Dameon took it from her with a soft smile, which made her blush (or was it the other way around?), and Galahad said exuberantly, "Thank you, maiden! I will repay your kindness as soon as I am able."

She'd have liked to roll her eyes, but... it was her fault the paladin was injured in the first place, and if he was overbearing and pompous he was also gallant in his own stupid way. And anyway she couldn't stay irritated when Dameon was smiling and looking so peaceful, so instead she said, "That's all right, Galahad. I'm... sorry I got carried away earlier."

Galahad nodded self-importantly and said, "I should not have underestimated you. You are a skilled swordswoman, and it is an honor to defend you as your champion."

"Er—" she almost said _whatever_ , but she saw Dameon glance up at her and she thought of his mother, and instead she said, "thank you, Galahad."

She didn't even choke on the words. They weren't even hard to say. They were almost nice, in a way—

The door banged against the wall suddenly and Te'ijal was by the bed before Rhen could move to stop her—

"Naughty, naughty lambchop," the vampress was saying, "getting yourself injured. You know, this wouldn't happen so easily if you would just let me bite you—"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME, DEMON SPAWN—" Galahad squealed, batting at her with his arms—

"Please be careful," Dameon stood up, trying to shield Galahad's wound from Te'ijal and from Galahad and being effortlessly thwarted by both of them— "I haven't finished yet—"

"Come here, duckling!"

" _VILE SERPENT!_ "

"Darling rabbit!"

"Not now—" Dameon tried to interrupt, but they weren't listening and he had to dance around the chair to avoid being caught in the middle of them—

" _LEAVE ME ALONE, CREATURE_ —"

"You look so tasty when you're disagreeable! Come now, let me bite you—"

"Te'ijal!" Rhen said sharply, surprising herself by sounding just like Ma. "You promised not to bite any of us!"

Te'ijal turned to face her and pouted. "But he provokes me!"

"You promised," Rhen repeated stubbornly. Then, "You can tease Galahad later. Why don't you come check out the junk shop with me?"

Dameon and Galahad looked very relieved at this idea, but Te'ijal just laughed. "You humans truly are amusing! You have so little time to live, and spend all of it running silly errands and avoiding excitement."

"Are you coming?" Rhen said, standing now at the door.

Te'ijal chuckled. "Very well, I suppose I can postpone my flirtations a little longer." She looked sharply at Galahad and the paladin turned very pink. "Heal up soon, duckling. I will be back."

And indeed, she was back very soon. Rhen tried to distract her with the new shipment of stuff that had arrived in the junk shop— the glass bottle, the book page with strange, ancient-looking writing that she thought maybe Te'ijal would recognize— but Te'ijal just pouted and complained that nothing like the soul pendant had come in.

Rhen tried to convince the vampress to shop for new weapons with her. Te'ijal shrugged and pointed at her rapier.

Rhen tried shopping for weapons anyway. Te'ijal spent the whole time terrorizing the shop owner.

Rhen suggested fighting orcs. Te'ijal yawned.

Rhen was out of ideas, and she was getting hungry, and besides, the sun was starting to set, so she at last consented to go back to the manor—

Te'ijal took off running before Rhen could begin to regret her decision, and Rhen walked the rest of the way alone.

She could smell the stew as she approached the door. She hadn't liked stew as a child; it was squishy and all the meat and vegetables were mixed in together instead of kept neatly separate. But lately she was always hungry and she ate everything, and liked everything— especially the things she didn't have to cook.

By the time she got to the dining room with her bowl of stew, Te'ijal was already chasing Galahad around the table. Apparently Galahad's leg was feeling much better. Rhen rolled her eyes as she pulled out a chair for herself. Those two never got tired of yelling at each other, it seemed, and it was weird, and disturbing, and sort of cute, in a way.

At least, it might be cute if she wasn't trying to _eat!_

Elini and Lars were also seated at the table, arguing over which term Galahad used most often to express his feelings for Te'ijal. Elini was betting on _creature of the night_ , but Lars insisted it was _serpent spawn_ , and together they were determined that there would be no rest in the manor until the matter had been settled.

"If it's _serpent spawn_ , you owe me fifty gold!"

"Hmm. We shall see, Northerner."

"CEASE YOUR ABOMINABLE HUNTING, CREATURE OF THE NIGHT!"

Elini grinned. "One more for me."

Lars scowled. "Hmph!"

"Come here, Galahad!"

"NEVER, SERPENT SPAWN!"

"Ha!" Lars exulted, pounding the table and almost making Rhen spill her stew.

Elini frowned. "That makes it even again."

Rhen swallowed a potato. "I think he uses both terms about the same."

Lars rolled his eyes. "That's what Dameon said."

Rhen stuffed her mouth with bits of carrot and beef and tried not to blush. "Where is he, anyway?"

"It's impolite to talk with your mouth full," Elini scolded. Then, "He went to the drawing room, to read."

"ABOMINABLE CREATURE!" Galahad shrieked, and Elini smiled again.

"Doesn't count," Lars said firmly. Elini pouted.

Rhen swallowed down the rest of her stew and pushed her chair away from the table (and almost tripped Galahad, but he yelled and dodged around her— which was a remarkable feat for someone who insisted on wearing so much armor all the time). She hurried to the kitchen, dumped her dishes in the sink, and made her way back towards the drawing room.

She wanted to talk to Dameon. About... everything. The day had been so strange and long. She had a lot to think about and she knew he would listen to her. She hardly listened to _herself_ when she got like this; she could be so darn obnoxious. But he listened, and seemed to understand her. He even remembered what she said. And that was nice.

Dameon was in the drawing room, like Elini had said, but he wasn't reading. His book was balanced precariously on the edge of his lap and he was slumped over on the arm of the couch, snoring softly. Rhen tried to squash the disappointment she felt rising up in her. He'd had a long day, healing Galahad and, most likely, making dinner, and he deserved some rest.

Still, _how_ he could sleep, with Galahad and _everyone_ yelling in the dining room, was a mystery to her.

But... he really looked very child-like. His solemnity was stripped from him and he was left with just a quiet sort of vulnerability. His hair was in his face and it moved with his breathing— or his snoring, very slow and soft.

She would talk to him tomorrow. She turned to leave the room—

" _Stop_ —" he mumbled suddenly.

She looked back at him but he was still sleeping. "Dameon?"

" _Not the carrots_ — _"_

She almost laughed except that he looked really, truly alarmed about the carrots; it was clearly a serious matter to him—

" _It's a fish,_ " he trilled, and knocked the book off his lap. It crashed onto the floor, and Rhen _had_ to laugh, and laugh—

His eyes flew open and he leaped to his feet. "What—" he stammered blearily, and he blinked very rapidly, and stared at her, and turned pink. "What— are you laughing about?"

"You— just—" she cackled, and tried to calm herself, but he was so mortified, and— and— _a fish?_

"Dameon—" she managed. She touched his elbow to comfort him, and found that doing so calmed her laughter, until she could explain, in a very dignified voice, "You talk in your sleep."

He looked at the ground. "Oh."

"It's all right. You were tired," she soothed. "Come on, why don't you sit back down?" she continued, pulling him back to the couch. "Have you eaten?"

He gaped at her like he wasn't sure what language to reply in, and managed, "Yes— stew."

She sat him on the couch and plopped down beside him. "Good."

He was looking at her, and the vulnerability hadn't quite left his face yet, and maybe that's why she blurted, with no introduction or anything, "Thank you for helping me with Galahad today. He can be... difficult."

He looked away and tried to appear unaffected but she noticed that his ears were pink, and it took him a moment to reply. "It was nice of you to apologize to him. I don't know if I would have."

Now _she_ tried to seem unaffected, but she could hear the squeak in her voice. "Well, it was just... Lars apologized to me earlier."

She was going to stop there, but Dameon smiled softly at her, and she continued. "I felt a lot better, and... freer. I don't know if that makes any sense, but— And I thought Galahad could maybe feel that way, too. And, Dameon—" she stopped. She couldn't bring up his mother now, while he was watching her so trustingly, and mildly. Tomorrow, when he was more rested, maybe, more prepared...

"What is it?" he urged quietly. She blinked and tried to smile. That one lock of hair was in his face again and she balled her hands into fists.

"I— I am still hungry," she said, and it wasn't a lie. "Would you like to— raid the kitchen for desserts?"

He started to laugh, but before the sound was quite out of his mouth they heard Galahad scream, even more loudly than usual. "ENOUGH OF THIS, SERPENT SPAWN! I AM GOING TO BED!"

They heard him tear down the hall, and slam his door, and then—

There was a loud crash, and Galahad yelled something unintelligible and angry—

Rhen looked at Dameon, and found that he was very, very red.

He cleared his throat. "I— guess I forgot to move that chair..."

Rhen laughed. "Come on," she said, pulling him to his feet, "we better go check that he's all right."

He let her help him up and then pulled his hands away— not before she noticed how they were shaking. "Yes," he said. "I suppose we should bring the covey balm."

"Yeah. I guess that would be good."

So they did, and it was lucky they thought of it before because they never would have gotten around Te'ijal to apply it otherwise, and Galahad would have been miserable all night, and would have complained about it probably for the next decade at least.

By the time they were finished helping the paladin, _again_ , Rhen was asleep on her feet— everyone was, really. But Dameon let her lean on him and he walked her to her room, and when he looked down at her to whisper a timid, " _Goodnight, Rhen,_ " the lock of hair fell into his face again. And Rhen thought, honestly, Te'ijal was right, her life was too short for this, so she pushed his hair back and kissed his silly, pink ear.


	13. Cheese

**Cheese**

 _So I have the lamest sense of humor ever and have been wanting to call a piece "Cheese," or something similar, for a while. So yay me. Most of this was written a long time ago, then scrapped because it's kind of sillier than the other pieces so I'm not sure it fits really. But… there were some good jokes (not Dameon's jokes, I think he got his sense of humor from the Oracle XD), and I figure we can always do with more Aveyond fanficton. So I finished it up and yeah, here you go! I almost didn't post it but my sister likes it so hopefully you do too!_

 _Occurs some time, but not a ton of time, after the party has purchased the manor and recruited Galahad._

* * *

All the best cheeses, she had been told, required a lengthy aging process. It started with milk, and then some crazy cheese-maker did some fancy, unpleasant sounding stuff involving knives and fire and tight spaces, and then the used-to-be-milk was thrown somewhere cold and wet and left to fend for itself, sometimes for years. Sometimes even for decades.

And then it became cheese, and the citizens of Sedona worshipped it.

Rhen herself wasn't so keen on cheese. It was all right, she guessed, but she'd rather have meat. Or dessert, dessert would be good. But there were no paintings of dessert in Frederick's art gallery.

She was only even in Frederick's art gallery because he had sent her a dang invitation to a dang special exhibition of his latest acquisition, _Man in Hot Water._ And he had only invited her on account of her having been the one to bring him Theodore's picture in the first place. It was all exceptionally stupid and Rhen would much rather be in the manor, or sparring in the practice yard. But Elini had told her it would be rude to refuse, and Galahad had looked ready to give her one of his horribly long lectures, and besides, even though Dameon hadn't said anything, she could tell he was interested. So she accepted the dang invitation, and had even made attempts to dress nicely— which was a mistake because the pale red-definitely-not-pink gown she had chosen was sweaty and itchy.

And the art was droll. The gallery mostly consisted of cheese paintings, of course. Cheddar, mozzarella, provolone, every kind of cheese in Aia. People dressed in colorful, silly looking clothes clustered around these paintings, pointing out a detail of a piece of swiss or loudly proclaiming that what their neighbor thought was gouda was actually feta. Why was this city so obsessed with cheese? No wonder Frederick had been so excited about the creepy stick figure.

Besides that, Rhen saw a few flower paintings. There was one of marion bells that held her attention for a bit. She liked the details of the leaves and the blending of the colors. Okay, really she just liked marion bells, and it was sentimental and stupid—

"This one is charming."

Rhen started and turned to see Dameon standing beside her, smiling up at the marion bell painting. His _smile_ was charming and she wished he would stop it because now her gown felt stuffy and stiff and her voice was going to squeak when she spoke, she just knew it.

"Yes," she managed in relatively even tones, fixing her eyes on one of the pink petals. "It is."

"It is decidedly less cheesy than the others."

It was the lamest joke she had ever heard, but she was laughing at it and she couldn't stop, and it was very embarrassing. And she knew her face was red now, and she wanted to hide it somewhere, but the only place she could think of was Dameon's chest and she was absolutely, definitely, most assuredly _not_ going to do that—

Great, now she was choking on her own spit. She tried to apologize but the words came out more like, "Ack— sah— ree," and she was coughing horribly—

Dameon took her in his arms and patted her back until she could breathe again. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it was _that_ funny..."

"Er— it wasn't," she said, pulling away from him and looking hard at the painting again. "I don't know why I was laughing like that." Then she grinned in spite of herself. "It was a pretty cheesy joke, actually."

"Hmm," he said, the corners of his mouth curving up, just a little. "Well, your reaction was pretty charming."

She laughed— a normal amount this time— and only blushed a little, and endeavored to change the subject. "What's your favorite painting so far?"

"I... am not sure," he said slowly. Then he smiled again, and turned pink like the marion bell, and couldn't seem to stop himself from saying, "The gouda one was particularly good."

Rhen was mortified to find that she was laughing again. It must be just the unexpectedness of it, the incongruity of his serious mouth spouting such nonsense. That was it, that _must_ be it—

"Sorry, Rhen," he said, patting her back again because she was choking again. "I don't know why I keep doing that..."

When she had recovered she said, "It's all right. Just don't make a habit of it—"

"You young people _really must_ quiet down," an older woman interrupted scoldingly, pointing at them with her enormous spectacles. "Art is to be _looked at_ , not _laughed at!_ "

Unfortunately this assertion only caused Rhen to laugh again. Dameon beamed at her, which didn't help, and then he offered her his elbow, which did, and he made his apologies to the old lady and led Rhen into the next room.

Besides more cheese paintings, there were some portraits of nobles, all dressed more ridiculously than the nobles walking through the gallery, if that were possible. Te'ijal and Elini were standing in front of a portrait of a duchess whose dress was poofy enough to hold seven other people, and whose hair was piled so high that Rhen found herself wondering what she was hiding in it.

Seeing her interest, Dameon walked with her to the portrait, and Te'ijal and Elini turned to greet them.

"Good day, Sword Singer, Sun Priest," Elini inclined her head towards them.

"Look at this woman!" Te'ijal said, foregoing formalities as usual. "Look what she has in her hair! She could stake me with one of those!"

Rhen looked and saw that there were long, sharp wooden pins holding the woman's hair in place. "Wow!" she said, as quietly as she could manage. "She could stake _me_ with one of those!"

"And look at her dress!" Elini said. "It's big enough and stiff enough to knock over an army."

"Or _hide_ an army!" Rhen added.

Dameon was examining the portrait with his eyebrows drawn together. "But..." he began slowly, apparently very concerned, "how does she _move?_ "

Rhen, Elini, and Te'ijal laughed, which made Dameon turn red, and that made Rhen feel sorry. So with an effort, she caught her breath, and said, "If she's anything like me, she probably _doesn't_."

"Even _I_ couldn't wear _that,_ " Elini said. "In Veldt, clothing is light, durable, and flexible. We don't see any good reason for this stiff, bulky Northern nonsense."

"I imagine _I_ could wear it," Te'ijal said, and shrugged. "But it would rustle so much Galahad would hear me coming from a mile away."

Dameon grinned, and Rhen's stomach fluttered and she laughed. Then she blushed when she saw Elini's knowing look, and she stopped abruptly and said, "Let's go see what else Frederick's got around here."

What else Frederick had around there was a mirror, which Lars was standing in front of, apparently trying to adjust his cloak. Te'ijal grinned suddenly and pulled Dameon away from Rhen, motioning for them to be quiet with a finger pressed to her mouth.

Te'ijal stopped behind Lars, placing Dameon behind her self, and she leaned towards Lars so her nose almost touched the back of his head. Dameon looked at Rhen and shrugged, and Lars sighed loudly and said, "Dameon, do you mind? You're in my ligh— AUGH! TE'IJAL," he screamed, having turned around to find the vampress directly behind him. "GET OUT OF MY SPACE! I'LL FRY YOU WITH MAGIC!"

He was holding his staff to do it, but Te'ijal just cackled, and that was when Rhen remembered that vampires have no reflection. Elini laughed, and Rhen laughed, and Dameon smiled, and Lars settled for using his staff to push Te'ijal away and to smack Dameon in the arm.

"You young people again!" a familiar raspy voice scolded, and Rhen turned to see the old lady with the big spectacles. "Art is _not_ funny!"

"Mind your own business, you old hag—" Lars began, but Dameon interrupted him with another apology to the elderly lady, and pushed Lars on to the next painting in the gallery. Rhen hurried to catch up, and Elini and Te'ijal shrugged and followed her.

"How amusing," Te'ijal said. "More cheese."

"Didn't you hear the woman?" Rhen teased. "Art is _not_ funny!"

And then, Rhen had her revenge, because now Dameon was laughing at a joke that wasn't funny, and for a second the mirth even sparkled in his eyes and Rhen felt it in her toes, too—

But no one else was laughing, and he stopped quickly and blushed and cleared his throat.

Lars rolled his eyes. " _You_ all are what's not funny."

Rhen opened her mouth to make some retort— probably along the lines of _whatever_ — but Elini grabbed her shoulder and pointed across the room.

Rhen looked and saw Galahad standing and staring out a window very intently. This didn't seem _that_ strange so she glanced at Elini, and followed the demon summoner's gaze until she saw Te'ijal sneaking through the crowd towards the paladin.

Rhen sighed. "Come on, we better go intervene."

Dameon looked at her in confusion but followed her when she took his arm. Elini waved and mouthed, "Good luck," and Lars pulled out his garlic necklace and meandered back towards the mirror.

"What are we doing?" Dameon asked, glancing around, looking for something amiss.

"We have to make sure Te'ijal doesn't eat Galahad," Rhen explained, not bothering to point because the vampress was already halfway to the paladin.

Galahad turned and bowed his head towards them as they came up. "Good afternoon, sun priest. Good day, sword singer."

"Good afternoon," Dameon said, and Rhen added a quick, "Hello," and glanced back to see where Te'ijal was. The vampress had seen them approaching the paladin and was sulking in front of a brie painting, but still making her way towards them, slowly, slowly.

"So realistic, isn't it?" Galahad was saying, gesturing at the window. "You can almost smell the city just looking at it."

"Er— yeah," Rhen said reluctantly, deciding against telling Galahad that he was actually looking at a window. She knew from unfortunate experience that he would vehemently deny it against all reason, even if she were to stick her arm out the window. Even if she stood outside it. Even if _anything_.

"It's— quite nice," Dameon said, following her lead. Then, "Have you seen the one of a stickman boiling in a cauldron?"

Galahad looked appalled. "No, no, of course not. I am surprised you would say such a ghastly thing! Surely that is not a real painting!"

But before Dameon could answer, Te'ijal was upon them. "Duckling!" she greeted with much enthusiasm, and Galahad screamed.

"Creature of the night! Why do you torment me?"

"If you young people do not quiet down—" the bespectacled old lady began, before gaping at Galahad and Te'ijal. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sir Galahad! I did not realize that was you— I thought it was—" she stared at Rhen and Dameon, and started to point but thought better of it, "Um— uh— have you seen the featured piece, sir? _Man in Hot Water?_ Quite original, I assure you. It's just in the next room. I could give you a tour, if you'd like—"

"Lady, cease your blathering," Galahad said, standing erect even though Te'ijal was playing with his hair now. "Speeches are best made concise and clear. There is no need for all this— insufferable— insensate— demonic— devil woman, get out of my hair!" he roared, whirling on the vampress. Te'ijal only laughed and reached for his nose. Galahad sprang backwards, nearly knocking over a very shocked and muddled spectacle-wearing old lady, and he turned and ran from the gallery with Te'ijal at his heels.

"What— well!" the old lady said, drawing herself up. She looked sharply at Rhen. "At least you seem to have ceased your senseless laughter!"

Rhen flushed angrily. It was an unfair thing to say, it was unnecessary, and embarrassing—

"That— that was my fault," Dameon said quickly, stepping in front of her. "And I think her laugh is lovely."

He turned and smiled at her and she flushed for a different reason and looked at her boots. The old lady sniffed and turned away from them, waving her enormous spectacles in the air dismissively.

"Come on," Dameon said, pulling Rhen towards the next room, "let's go see the rest of Frederick's collection."

"Well, all right," Rhen said, trying to ignore how warm her face felt. "I didn't get to look at Theodore's piece yet."

Dameon grinned and escorted her to where _Man in Hot Water_ hung. There was a cluster of rich people around it, having a heated discussion. Lars' voice shouted over some of the others. "The artist is _not_ a noble! He's a child from New Witchwood!"

"That' ridiculous!" one of the men countered. "Only the gifted and monetarily endowed get into the Gentle Children's school!"

" _You're_ ridiculous!" Lars argued. "Theodore doesn't have to be a noble to be gifted and rich!"

It was such an incongruous thing to hear that Rhen laughed.

Dameon looked at her in confusion. "What is funny?"

She shook her head and explained, "It's funny how people change."

He stared at her, and there was no laughter in his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked at the ground. "I suppose sometimes it is."

She wasn't sure what, exactly, he was thinking, or how she was supposed to respond to that, so she ended up tucking his hair behind his ear, and saying, "I'm glad _you_ haven't changed."

But it was the wrong thing to say. He stepped away from her, still staring at the ground, and said, so lowly she almost didn't hear, "I am changing every day. Everything changes."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's the matter, Dameon?"

He tried to smile, but it wasn't convincing. "Why don't we go see what other treasures Frederick has collected?"

"Hmm. I'll bet you one million gold pennies that nearly everything else is cheese."

But he didn't laugh. He just walked on towards the next painting.

And it _was_ cheese, and so was the next one. Mozzarella and ricotta and parmesan. There was one of some moldy, unrecognizable cheese that had apparently been painted by a gnome, and the lady standing in front of it assured Rhen that it was "Priceless! _Priceless!_ "

But Rhen would much have preferred another stupid joke.

Dameon was stopped in front of a smaller painting, one with a brown block-looking thing in the middle. Brunost?

No, it actually wasn't cheese, for once. It was a neat little house, sitting tranquilly on top of a hill, with the door hanging open like it didn't know how to close, and light pouring out of it as if to say, _come in_. It was nowhere she had been, but it was somehow familiar to her.

"Do you remember," Dameon began quietly, "when home looked like that?"

Clearwater had never looked like that. Well, not _exactly_ like that. The houses in Clearwater were made of white stones, and they rested on plateaus. But... she remembered the way their windows used to glow at sunset, calling all the children to come inside. She remembered being one of the children. But that was before— before it all changed. Before _she_ had changed.

Dameon was looking up at the painting, like if he stared long enough he could make it real, he could bring it back. He had been a child once, she realized. He hadn't chased sheep, or picked marion bells, but— he had lost something, too.

He had been very reserved when she first met him, even stiff. And now—

"Dameon," she said, and reached for his elbow. "Not _all_ change is bad. Sometimes— sometimes things get better."

Now, finally, he looked at her, but she could tell he didn't believe her.

Well. Maybe he was more serious than her, but she was definitely more stubborn. So she took another step closer, and said, with all the solemnity her soul possessed, "Milk can change into cheese, you know. And then the people in this city paint it, and hang it on their walls, and— worship it."

He stared at her and she tried to look serious, and then one little corner of his mouth curved upwards. "They are fools."

"They are," she agreed. And then she confided, quickly, before she could lose her nerve, "But I think I am, too."

He frowned again. "No," he said, and now he stepped closer, the tiniest bit. "No, you are just— you are—" he seemed to search for the word and she wondered what sort of horrid thing he was about to reveal about her, _stubborn, clumsy, childish_ —

And then he finished, very slowly and softly, "You are wise."

She turned the color of one of those confounded apples from Clearwater, and she looked at the ground and had to clear her throat twice before she could stammer, "Well— you're just— cheesy."

He laughed so hard that she thought he would suffocate, and now _she_ got to pat _his_ back. And then the bespectacled old lady kicked them out of the gallery, so they had to wait outside for everyone else, and everyone else took _forever_ —

But it was okay, because when he had caught his breath he leaned towards her, and his eyes sparkled with the secret he was about to tell her. "I know at least one thing that won't change," he said, and then, slowly and solemnly, he pressed his lips to her forehead.


	14. Something to Remember

**_Something to Remember_**

 _Rhen is remembering the conversation she and Dameon had after she talked to Danny in Sedona._

 _Happens after Rhen and co. have left Sedona but before they can battle Indra. They have to do a lot of running back and forth quests to get to Indra (at least they did the way I played), so this happens during one of those._

* * *

They had stopped to eat lunch, and she found herself lost in her thoughts. She wasn't even thinking anything important. She had so many weighty things to consider, but her mind always returned to this one silly little conversation.

 _"I think he likes you, sword singer."_

The words hadn't produced the usual fluttery feeling in her stomach. She'd tried to shrug it off.

 _"You may be right."_

She remembered the little frown that formed at this, and how oddly it had struck her.

 _"He is too short for you and his nose is too long."_

What a strange thing to say! Something tangled, and confused, and happy, and a little childish, had risen up in her. She could feel it now, too, and she smiled widely but discretely.

 _"Why, Dameon! Are you... jealous?!"_

His eyes had widened and his face had flushed.

 _"Jealous! Me?!"_

His tone had said _of course not,_ but his face had said _yes_ , and here was where she usually got stuck, replaying his words and his expression over in her mind, wondering which was the truth.

 _"Jealous! Me?!"_

 _Of course not, Rhen. I am the druid of light. I have more important things to think about then some silly, reckless girl who can't cook her own dinner or take care of her own injuries. How ridiculous._

But the blush! It had been immediate and deep. And the beautiful, almost vulnerable look in his usually guarded eyes.

 _Yes, Rhen. I couldn't tell you before but I like you. That's why I stammer so often and smile when I see you. Doesn't it make sense?_

And she wanted to say it did, but she was afraid she was wrong.

"Rhen?"

She looked up and blushed because there he was, as if he had stepped right out of her head. His eyes seemed darker every time she looked at them.

"What is wrong, Rhen?"

She scuffed her feet on the ground, trying to ignore the trembling feeling in her legs. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded miserably.

"Oh," he said, as if he was going to say more, but he didn't. After an awkward pause she became aware of a nervous sort of air about him. His hands were folded behind his back, and he kept glancing at her and quickly looking away again, sometimes half-opening his mouth like he might lean forward and— no, that was silly.

"Um... Rhen?"

"Yes, Dameon?" She tried to sound casual but her voice came out squeakily.

He cleared his throat in a clumsy sort of way, and produced something from behind his back. "This flower was growing out of a rock, over there," he gestured vaguely. She looked but could hardly see anything, she could only comprehend the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears and the earnest tone of his voice. "And it— reminded me of you, because it was so stubborn, and—" he cleared his throat again. "That isn't really what I meant. I mean— um— here." He took her hand and put the flower in it, his face burning, and then he hurried away before she could gather her wits enough to blink.

It was just a stupid little white daisy, but she knew she'd remember it forever.


	15. Return

**_Return_**

 _Okay so, just so you know the ocean between the Arishta Isles is called the Eldredth, I'm not making this up I promise, it's on the world map and also that one lady with the ring says it, I swear!_

 _Like the last one, this lil RhenxDameon piece happens between the back-and-forth miniquests that happen before the party can face Indra in the Snow Queen's basement. Probably on some beach somewhere near Sedona._

* * *

The ocean whispered.

It rustled and sighed against the shore, and Rhen swore she knew the words it used. It murmured in the ancient language of nature, a language every creature knew but none understood. At least, Rhen couldn't make any sense of it. She wished she could.

When she was a young and restless child, she thought she could understand the babbling of the brook that ran through Clearwater. She had spent hundreds of summer afternoons barefoot on its banks, cooling her toes in its crystal flow, caking her knees in mud, sometimes catching little fish. Her Pa always cheered about the fish. Ma always sighed at the mud. And Rhen laughed with the stream— that's what the bouncing, clear sounds it made were. _Laughter_.

The last time they had passed through Clearwater she sat down by the brook and tried to hear it again. Dameon had found her there— it was only a matter of time, there were only so many places to explore in Clearwater. She patted the ground beside her and he sat and she told him about the laughter and he tilted his head at her, and his hair had fallen to the side so she could see both of his eyes, dark like the deepest parts of the river and wide like the sky.

"Can you hear it laughing?" she had asked before she could stop herself.

She had expected _he_ would laugh, but instead he closed his eyes and listened and she held her breath and didn't know why.

When he opened his eyes again he had to shake his head— no, he couldn't hear the laughter. Rhen had looked down at the forever flowing brook, tumbling down the easiest paths, paths worn smooth by centuries of movement, and she'd managed a smile.

"Me neither."

It was always moving and it had finally moved without her.

Of course, the brook couldn't really laugh. It was just water. And so was the ocean— in this case, a _lot_ of water, and sand, and fish, and— if the tales were to be believed, which they were if Rhen had learned anything on this crazy quest— sirens and mermaids.

Maybe _they_ knew what the sea sighed about. Rhen only knew that it sighed, and that the sun was bright and warm, and the breeze was playful and really it was just too beautiful a day to not completely and utterly waste. So here she was, on the beach, completely and utterly wasting it.

Everyone had stowed away their armor in their bags. Rhen wasn't wearing her boots or her sword or her shield and she had forgotten how it felt to be able to _move_.

The ocean moved, too, but not like the brook. It always came back to itself, gathering its long stretches of blue up into great arching waves and then tumbling down to the beach again and starting over, time after time. It was predictable, but never the same. It was wild and free and unconquerable.

She knew sometimes the ocean roared, she had heard it during violent storms, and sailors had told her how it swallowed whole ships down into its unknowable depths. Perhaps that should have made her nervous. But Rhen, too, could bring destruction. She was trained in violence, she knew how to be fierce. It was not the roaring that moved her.

It was— something in the way the sea and the shore ran to each other, over and over, leaving bits of themselves strewn across the other, starfish and seashells and unending sand— it meant _something_ , she just didn't know what.

She stood nearly waist-deep in the middle of all of it, watching the way the water rocked gently on the horizon, feeling it rush past her, pulling her in with it. She watched waves form and held her breath as they sped towards her, whispering in that ancient language she wished she understood.

And the wave crashed against her, swallowing her whole like one of those ill-fated ships, uprooting her feet from the shifting sands and carrying her with it, not deterred in the least from its intended course. She spat out salt water and gasped for breath and found herself crashing onto the beach with all the seaweed and sediment— and the last of the wild wave was rolling back into the sea with a mournful sigh.

She stared after it, feeling winded and disoriented and— exhilarated, and another wave was already rising in the distance, the sand on the beach was rolling past her to meet it, and she scrambled to her feet to chase the retreating shore back into the deep blue.

The second wave came with the same fresh energy as the first, and she met it with a laugh that almost felt like the one she had learned from the brook. She was crashing and falling but she was not fighting, the ocean was fierce but it was not a warrior, it crashed and fell with her and it always, always returned her to the beach with that same soft murmur.

It was so different from the brook, and the swamps. The swamps smothered wildness, everything was stagnant there.

The last time they had passed through a swamp had been New Witchwood. It oozed with icky gooey green and slippery slime thanks to the Sludgemaster 2000— why had she ever given it to the witches? The muck stuck to her boots the same way it had to her bare feet in Ghalarah, trying to hold her down— at least she _had_ boots now.

Again it had been Dameon who found her. It was only a matter of time, she had been walking more slowly because of the mud and one by one the others had all passed her. Dameon was always last. He had smiled at her as he caught up, and she'd scowled and yanked her boots free and the mud _pfft'd_ derisively and she declared, before she could think, "I _hate_ that sound! I feel like it's mocking me."

"I'm sorry. That's awful," he had said, with his brow furrowed and his lips turned down in that serious little way he had.

Rhen usually felt scrutinized when people frowned at her, but _that_ frown made her feel— silly and trembly and—

Seen.

She had then promptly stepped in another muck puddle and gotten stuck again, and Dameon had given her his arm and helped her pull herself out and she had _pfft'd_ back at the mud and they caught up to the others and she— she couldn't remember if she'd actually let go of his arm or not. Why couldn't she remember?

She found she hadn't been paying attention when suddenly another wave swallowed her, she kicked her legs, and her face found the sun and she gasped and laughed, more thrilled than before because she hadn't expected it, she rolled and tumbled with the sea and landed on the beach again.

"Be more careful, maiden!" Galahad yelled as she surfaced. Saltwater dripped from the end of her nose and her braid and she spat some out of her mouth, and waved at him to prove she was just fine. He waved back, and resolutely ignored the vampress sitting next to him. Te'ijal didn't seem to mind, she was busy digging a hole— with her fingernails, of course. She could already fit her whole arm into it.

A bit farther up the beach, Elini was making a castle out of wet sand which she had made Lars dig up with the shovel. Apparently neither of them had been willing to follow Te'ijal's example.

Even from the surf, Rhen could hear Galahad scoffing at the idea of trying to make anything out of something as transient as sand, but Elini just smiled and smoothed out the walls. It was a beautiful castle, even if the tide would wash it out to sea in a matter of hours.

It would just be another thing that the ocean and the beach shared between them, sighing and shifting and returning again.

Dameon was walking in the between-space, picking up shells left by the surf and sometimes keeping them and sometimes tossing them back into the waves. Didn't he know they would just be washed back up? Rhen knew, from personal first-hand experience, _everything_ came back to the between-space.

She turned to return to the ocean but was interrupted by an outraged yelp and she whirled around to see that Te'ijal's arm and shoulder were now completely buried in the hole she had made and her hand had broken through the sand and come out right next to— Galahad's hand.

"Let go, you— you! Devious creature! Release me!"

Te'ijal just laughed and tried to tug his hand under the sand with hers. Rhen shook her head and sighed, the vampress was predictable and _crazy_. And Rhen might have done something about it, but the surf tickled her toes and sighed too, and instead she ran back into the ocean with it.

Over and over she ran after the sea and over and over it carried her back to the beach and— she laughed every time.

She watched breathlessly as each wave forming on the horizon, rocking the entire ocean in its quest to _be_. She squealed and grinned as it crashed into her, intent on its destination and happy to take her on the ride. And she landed on the beach with everything else that rode the wave, and she— loved it, there was something important about that space between the world and the mighty Eldredth.

It was only a matter of time— that is, she _should_ have predicted it, there was only so much shore for her to get washed up on and she had been washed up a hundred times in a hundred different places at least— so it was bound to happen, as certain as the ocean was bound to kiss the shore again, and again—

Still, somehow she was surprised when she was deposited once more on the beach with all the shells and instead of just the sigh of the waves she heard a low laugh next to her, and she looked up to see— to see—

"Hi, Dameon," she squeaked, quickly standing and trying to brush the sand off— it was futile, the sand was _everywhere_.

"Hi, Rhen," he said, with the same mildness of the surf rolling back into the sea. "Have you been listening to the ocean?"

She felt herself turning red and decided to pretend she was just sunburned. "Yes. Have you?"

He smiled that stupid smile that made her stupid stomach trembly, and said, "Yes. But I'm afraid I don't understand it."

"Me neither!" she said, and found that somehow she had leaned forward and was staring up into dark round eyes— she quickly pulled away again and smoothed out her braid. Not that it did any good, the saltwater had made a mess of it.

"What do you have there?" she asked, pointing at what he was twisting in his hands.

He held it up for her to see and its smooth white surface glinted in the sun— a seashell. "Just this," he said. "It sounds the same as the ocean when you—" he turned red suddenly, and looked away— "when you put your ear up to it."

She took it from him, careful not to brush her clumsy fingers against his graceful ones, and she held it beside her head on one side and plugged her ear on the other.

And then— she couldn't help the dopey grin that spread across her face. "It _does_ sound like the ocean!"

Dameon was staring hard at the sand, and his dark eyes darted up to meet hers and quickly looked down again, eyelashes fluttering over them.

His eyes spoke the same language the sea did when it whispered, soft and fierce and somehow sad.

She hesitated, and thought of the crashing waves and blurted, "I— I think I know what the sea is saying."

He looked fully at her now, dark eyes wide.

"It's saying— it's saying— er— _here,_ " she thrust the shell at him and held it against his ear, which was stupid because he was practically standing _in the ocean_ so it's not like he needed it to hear what she did. He looked startled at first and he flinched away but then—

He closed his eyes, and leaned towards her again, and mouthed the words she had been waiting to understand.

 _I will return to you_.


	16. Chocolate

**Chocolate**

 _A soft fluff I wrote while writing one of the more angsty ones. Inspired by a prompt on tumblr which unfortunately I can't find again; if you find who made it, I'd love to know :)_

 _Inspiration for one of the descriptions goes to Ishti on aveyond . com! They wrote me some lovely rhenxdameon oneshots for the 2017 gift exchange._

 _Happens before Rhen and co. show the fairy to the mountain king._

* * *

They were in Thornkeep. They had a fairy, finally, and they were going to show the Mountain King. But… _tomorrow._ It was getting dark, it was cold, and they were tired and hungry. _Very_ hungry. The poor tavern keeper had probably _definitely_ never served so much food in one night in her life— but she was very gracious, the people of Thornkeep always were, and Rhen was allowed to eat until she was full.

She had left Dameon in charge of the money, because she knew he would pay fairly. She had learned from experience that Te'ijal would pay every penny in the pouch if she wasn't watched carefully, and Galahad and Lars would be stingy.

Rhen might have trusted Elini with the gold, but Elini was playing some sort of card game with the regular patrons. Cards seemed to be somehow involved, anyway, but there was also a lot of yelling and leaning across the entire oaken table and wildly flailing arms about, and once or twice Rhen could have sworn she saw some cards flying through the air. Galahad and Lars were watching this boisterous game, Galahad with a disapproving scowl, and Lars with narrow, attentive eyes.

Te'ijal was amusing herself with catching the moths flitting around the dimly lit lanterns, harmless for once.

Rhen sat alone at a table in a corner by the fire, finishing off her soup. It was _so warm,_ and she was still so cold. It had been cold in Clearwater, sometimes, but never like this. The Ice Queen never did anything halfway, it would seem.

Rhen tilted the bowl up and drank the last of the broth— it was sunshine going down her throat and warming the pit of her stomach. She sighed happily and let the bowl clatter back down onto the table.

That's when Dameon got back from paying. She waved at him as he approached and he hesitated and then reached to pull out the chair beside her.

"Hi, Dameon," she said, as he sat down.

"Hi, Rhen," he returned, with a soft smile. He put the money pouch and another smaller pouch he had bought from the tavern keeper down on the table. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

She nodded happily; her belly was full and warm, her fingers were finally thawing in the heat of the fire on the hearth, and now— her cheeks were warm too.

"I don't really like the snow," she said, "but the people here are nice. And the soup is amazing."

He nodded. "The people of Thornkeep like to say their town is memorable for four c's: cold, company, chocolate, and soup."

"Oh," she said, and scrunched her eyebrows together. "But... there are no c's in soup."

He laughed gently, which made her smile. "No, there aren't. My father used to say they should add a fifth one: obstinacy."

She grinned, and leaned forward on her elbows, and said in a low, conspiring voice for just him to hear, "The ice queen would approve." And then she laughed, and Dameon laughed again, and that table, in that corner by the fire, was the warmest place in all of Thornkeep.

And the laughter quieted, and they were left with wide smiles, and eyes reflecting soft firelight— and an absolute uproar from Elini's table, which had something to do with the two of hearts.

Rhen sighed. "Do you think they ever sleep around here?"

Dameon shrugged. "I haven't been here very often," he said. And then, with a softened sort of look about his eyes, "Are you tired?"

She nodded sleepily, and he propped an elbow on the table and leaned forward. "Would you like a kiss?"

And now cold was the farthest thing from her mind, her face was burning, and her throat was hot, and her voice squeaked when she said, before she could think, "Yes!"

Dameon blinked at her, his lips parted slightly, and instead of leaning any further forward he reached into the small pouch he had bought and held a little chocolate drop out towards her.

If she hadn't been blushing before, she was now. "I— I mean yes," she stammered. "I just— er, I really, really love chocolate— um, thanks…"

She took the chocolate from him and stared at it a moment. She had never had chocolate in her life; Jenna had, once, when her parents had taken her to a fair in Sedona. She had declared it to be divine, but she hadn't brought any back to Clearwater. And of course Rhen had seen it in shops since this quest began, but it always seemed a frivolous purchase— and now— how was she supposed to eat it?

Dameon looked away, and his dark eyelashes fluttered and glowed gently in the firelight, and then—

His lips brushed her forehead, so fleetingly and softly she almost didn't believe it had happened, except for the warmth just above her temple and the shy tenderness in his chocolate eyes.

He cleared his throat nervously, and said, in his low, honey-milk voice, "It _is_ quite good, especially in Thornkeep."

And then he smiled, a melty soft sort of smile that made her chest warm, and the chocolate drop was a gooey mess in her hands—

But it was still delicious.


	17. Cold Encounter, Warm Heart

**_Cold Encounter, Warm Heart_**

 _My friend came up with the title, isn't it so cute? :D_

 _Daena is one of my favorite druids (I guess because she's purple? Also wisdom is cool) so I featured her here. The conversation Dameon is remembering is the one that occurs when you make Dameon the party leader and talk to Rhen in Sedona. (And said conversation is in italics btw)_

* * *

" _I think you have a good heart, Dameon._ "

That's what she'd told him in Sedona, and it kept coming back to him now, while Indra threw her spells at them. His magical shields were not going to hold out, he kept repairing them and healing whoever had been hit by Indra's ice magic, but he was running out of mana fast. They were out of restoratives, they were out of everything, and Indra's attacks just kept coming—

" _I think you have a good heart, Dameon_."

What was that, _a good heart?_ Did it matter? What good could a heart do in a world that was cruel and unforgiving? And how could his heart, which could not forgive, be good? Why would she say that—

The barriers around Rhen were breaking again and he frantically tried to mend them, but he couldn't do anymore, his mana reserves were empty. Indra's icy eyes met his and she laughed, she knew that Rhen was defenseless now. She raised her arms to cast her fury.

Rhen could take it. She could take anything, because she was determined and tough—

But she shouldn't have to. That's the last thing Dameon thought before he shoved her out of the way.

Indra's spell hit him and he crumpled to the ground. He wasn't strong like Rhen, the spell was already sapping his strength, leaving ice in his bones.

"You fool!" Indra shrieked. "Traitorous wretch! You will pay!" She raised her arms again and all Dameon could think of was that time in Sedona, " _Do you think you will ever forgive your mother for killing your father?"_ —

No, no because he would die first—

 _"I think you have a good heart, Dameon."_

Whatever that meant, if it meant anything—

But Rhen yelled and thrust her sword through the demon, Indra screamed and disintegrated, she was gone. Te'ijal was picking up Daena's soul and Galahad was taking it from her—

"Dameon, are you all right?"

Rhen was kneeling next to him, pulling his head onto her lap. He didn't know what to tell her. He was cold and getting colder—

"I'm—fine—Rhen," he shivered.

"Can you stand?"

He let her help him up but he couldn't feel his legs, or his chest, and he collapsed against her—

" _I think you have a good heart, Dameon._ "

"Rhen—"

She was saying something to him but he couldn't understand her, everything was muddled and cold.

"Help me—"

Rhen pulled him onto her back and he wrapped his arms around her neck. He clung tightly to her, because she was warm. Because she was the only stable thing he knew. She carried him through the ice caverns, and everything but the bright purple of her hair slowly faded. He was numb, he couldn't feel his own breathing. The only real thing was her sturdy back. Then… then…

It was dark… and voices…

"Sun priest. Sun priest! Wake up."

"Mmm—"

"I know. You must get up. There is much work to do."

He opened his eyes slowly. Everything ached, and it was too bright. He blinked and tried to understand his surroundings. He was lying on a mat. Everything was white and purple; he must be at the Moon Temple. He looked up at his caretaker—

"Daena?"

The Druid of Wisdom smiled knowingly. "I suppose I am not who you were hoping to see."

He blushed and cleared his throat. "Where—"

"I sent everyone outside because they couldn't keep quiet," she said briskly. "Now, up with you. There is much work to do."

He sat up and the room tilted. He squinted and held his head in his hands to soothe the dizziness—

"You seem to have caused the chosen one considerable distress. I suggest you talk with her."

She spoke so quickly, his spinning head couldn't keep up. "What—what am I to tell her?

Daena looked at him sternly. "The truth is always best." Then she stood. "Come, now. We must get to Aveyond before it is too late."

Dameon pushed himself to his feet (his legs were working now, at least) and followed Daena out of the room.

Elini was sitting on the stairs in the main room of the temple. Te'ijal crouched above her, knotting the demon summoner's hair into some sort of elaborate updo. Galahad watched with a disapproving frown, and Lars sat nearby reading one of his spellbooks. The sorcerer looked up and smirked at Dameon.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Elini turned her head towards him. "Sun Priest, I am glad you are feeling better."

"Welcome back to the world of the living," Te'ijal added, and Galahad bowed respectfully. Dameon tried to appear grateful for their attention, but— but—

"Where is Rhen?"

They all looked at him and frowned.

"Where— where is she?"

"Calm down," Lars said, turning back to his book, "she just went to train on some ice slimes."

Dameon all but ran from the temple, she shouldn't be fighting so soon after the battle with Indra—

He slipped on the ice outside, scrambled to his feet and tried to hurry across the bridge, but something hit his chest and he fell again—

" _What are you doing up?_ "

"Rhen—"

"You should still be resting!"

"Rhen, you are injured!" Her arm was bleeding. He stood up quickly and reached towards her to try a healing spell—

"No!" she said violently, pushing his hands away. "You don't have the strength for this right now! You can't do everything, Dameon, sometimes you have to just stay back, and let me handle it! I can take care of myself!"

"Rhen—" he began, not sure what he wanted to say. He was flustered, why was she yelling at him?

"Why didn't you let that spell hit me?" she demanded, her violet eyes piercing him through. "I could've taken it! It should've been me on the ground after the battle. It should've been me in there with Daena. _Why_ couldn't you just let me take the hit?!"

"I— I—"

"You thought I wouldn't be able to handle it?!"

"No! Rhen, I—"

"Then _why_ , Dameon! Why—"

"Because I care about you!"

She stared at him. He would have stared at himself, if he could. But there it was, there was the terrifying truth.

She turned away. "I couldn't do anything to help you. I failed you."

"No," he said quickly, taking her hand. "No. Rhen, you got me to Daena. You saved me in more ways than you know. Please," he squeezed her hand because he was afraid, suddenly, that she would disappear, like everything stable did— "let me help you. It is good for me to help you. I..." he swallowed, and said it again. "I care about you."

She looked back at him, and her eyes were soft now, and his chest was tight. She breathed in deeply and blew her bangs out of her face, and put her free hand over his.

"I'm sorry for yelling," she said, and her face was pink. "I was just frightened because— I— care about you, too."

He smiled and felt so happy and terrified that he took both her hands and kissed them and blushed. She rested her head on his shoulder and let him heal her arm, and said quietly, "You have a good heart, Dameon."

And just then, he thought maybe he did.


	18. Smiling Hurts

**Smiling Hurts**

 _So Dameon has another important, albeit short, conversation with his mother around this time in the game, and I wanted to mention it cuz it's sort of a big deal for him._

 _After Rhen and co. bring Daena to Aveyond and do those other sidequests which happen there, they start sailing for the Southern Isle, cuz that's where the next daeva is_ — _not that they know that, but plot, man, plot... Anyway, they do know that the next druid is there. So._

 _And a tiny detail so you understand my lame jokes, Rhen only wears one earring. It's true, look at her sprites. Can't make this stuff up._

* * *

Dameon had volunteered to steer the ship that night, mostly because he knew he wouldn't sleep anyway. Te'ijal had laughed and said there was no need, she could easily do it. Galahad had scoffed and declared the responsibility should be his, not a druid's. Lars had rolled his eyes, Elini had shrugged. Rhen had smiled softly at him and, with a firm look at everyone else, said she wouldn't stop him.

So he was standing at the helm, while the ocean rolled the skudder gently and moonlight crowned the tops of the waves, and he wasn't paying near as much attention as he should be to what he was doing, because he was remembering.

They had brought Daena to Aveyond and he had seen his mother again. She always asked him the same question— _"Have you forgiven me yet?_ " — as if the answer would ever change, _could_ ever change—

Yet it _had_ changed. He had felt the familiar burn of anger and hurt, and his mouth had been opened to say what he had always said before. But then the burning was gone, and he'd just felt— regret. Because he had lost his father? Or because his mother was estranged? Was he sorry for the vengeance he hadn't been able to take, or— or for what he had done already?

 _"I... I don't know, mother."_

She'd stared at him sadly, and then Rhen had taken his arm and quietly told him it was time to go, they still had a lot to do. She'd led him from the Temple, and he did not resist.

It was so easy to trust her, to depend on her. He didn't know _how_ to trust someone, anyone, but he was doing it more every day. It was frightening, how she drew him in and took down his defenses, without even trying. Her smile made his throat tight and her eyes sent chills through him, strange, thrilling chills that left him feeling warm and broken wide open, the pieces that held him together scattered like so many fragments of glass, leaving him defenseless.

She made him open to everyone else, too. He laughed at Te'ijal's jokes, even when he was the only one. He argued with Lars, but only because he admired the sorcerer's intelligence. He respected Elini because she knew what she wanted. He even liked Galahad, because at least the man was consistent.

And— and— he had almost forgiven his mother, in that blind, bright moment. He didn't know if that was good or bad.

It was easier to doubt everyone. It was safer to be alone.

But Rhen—

She made him smile without meaning to. He smiled when she blushed because she was genuine and charming. And when she'd insisted on helping those sick villagers in Dirkon, even though they were practically dead, even though they would never be able to return the favor, even though she hated, despised, and _loathed_ rats (as she'd told him, several times) — he'd _had_ to smile, because it was such a sweet, innocent thing to do.

But he knew that she was not naive. She had been alone. She had been hurt and scorned and even betrayed, but she chose to help people anyway. That was the enchanting part, and the confounding part. It was the mystery, and it was changing him.

A breeze buffeted at the sails and he readjusted the helm, but still he was hardly paying attention.

Rhen had offered to help find Tiny, even after the fairy prince had told her she was clumsy. Technically, he had said _humans_ were clumsy, but Rhen had taken it personally. Dameon had tried to reassure her that the fairy probably meant Vata, because Vata was old and slow, but Rhen had stayed mad for hours afterwards. Still, when the fairy prince offered a goose as a reward for her service (" _A goose?"_ she had yelled, not quite angry but almost), she had thanked him. She'd done it so graciously, and awkwardly, and so _Rhen_ -ly, that Dameon had involuntarily grinned at her, _accidentally_ smiled, for the rest of the day, even when his cheeks got sore from it.

That hadn't taken long, because he wasn't used to smiling. He was used to scowling, and feeling angry and hurt—

He heard the door to the lower deck creak open; it was probably Te'ijal, bored of the quiet below. He tried to look like he had been paying attention to the sea, and not getting lost in his head.

A slender hand wrapped around his arm and he meant to yelp but instead he just stiffened. He didn't turn around but he knew it was Rhen because she smelled like metal and leather and magic— that was the only word he had for it— he couldn't remember how to inhale and everything felt warm— why was she so close?

"Dameon," she said sleepily, "Te'ijal can't sleep any longer and she's keeping us all up. Can't you please—" she paused to yawn, and Dameon looked down at her in time to see the crooked little _o_ her mouth made— "Can't you please let her steer now?"

"Oh," was all he could manage at first, and then, after he had collected himself, "Of course."

"Good," she said, and gave him a drowsy, happy sort of smile. Then, dropping her head onto his shoulder, "Your robes are so soft."

And he smiled, without meaning to, again. "Rhen," he said, suddenly feeling brave, "can I— can I ask you a question?"

"Mmhmm."

He took a deep breath, and asked something he had wondered since he met her. "Why do you wear only one earring?"

She looked up at him and shrugged. "Why do you only shave half your head?"

He smiled and even laughed, which still felt so new and strange— and nice. "To annoy the Oracle, mostly."

"Oh," she said, and yawned again. "That's actually a pretty good reason."

Now he was grinning and he couldn't stop. "I'm glad you think so."

She nodded in a lazy sort of way.

"I thought you were going to say something about your mother."

He stiffened to brace himself against the rage that he knew would tear its way to the surface in just a moment— but it didn't come. He just felt lost.

"I was proud of you when you talked to her," she continued, in a sleepy little voice.

"Rhen, I— I didn't forgive her," he reminded her. "I am still angry."

"I know," she said, patting his arm. "But you thought about it, and I know that was hard." She yawned, then tugged on his sleeve. "Come sleep now. I'm tired."

He let her lead him down to the sleeping quarters, and to his mat which she had already laid out. She helped him settle into it, and kissed his forehead with a soft, "Goodnight, Dameon," before leaving to crawl into her own sleeping mat. And it didn't make any sense, but he felt peaceful and safe, and he slept easily that night, and smiled all through it.

He knew, because, in the morning, his cheeks hurt.


	19. Hiding

**Hiding**

 _Rhen goes through a lot in the games, but because she keeps such a good attitude through it all I think people tend to forget or minimize it, so it was nice for me to write something that addressed her struggles in some small way. And also I wanted to look at why Rhen distrusts pirates so much in the game; I was originally going to have something with Pirate John but this piece happened instead. It's set when the party goes to the Veniara Isles. I had them stop for the night._

* * *

Rhen was curled up in the lower deck of the skudder, scowling and fuming and being angry at the world— but mostly at herself.

She had yelled at _everyone_. They hadn't even done anything. She just didn't like the way the Sour Ale Tavern smelled; like sweat and mold and three months without a bath, like _that_ ship, the one that took her away from everything she knew. And she didn't like the pirates, or the way they leered at her. She didn't know who had sailed _that_ ship, but they'd _looked_ like pirates, and they had leered the same way. She hated them, and she hated the pirates in that stupid tavern—

And it was no excuse, but that's why she'd blown up at Elini when the summoner nudged her and nodded appreciatively towards one of the criminals, like he was worth looking at, like he had ever done anything that wasn't despicable—

Lars had tried to tell her she was being ridiculous— and maybe she _was_ being ridiculous, but she'd yelled at him anyway. And she'd yelled at Galahad when he tried to tell her to behave more like a lady— and at Te'ijal, for no reason other than that she was standing there. The vampress had just stared at her, smiling like it was _amusing._ It wasn't funny. There was nothing funny about piracy, or violence, or— or— or— _slavery_ —

And all this time she had watched out of the corner of her eye as Dameon slowly approached her, wearing one of his little frowns, and finally he'd said her name and she'd whirled on him— she didn't need his judgement too, after everything else— she just wanted someone to be on _her_ side— and she'd yelled and yelled—

She didn't know what she'd said. She just remembered the baffled look on his face as he apologized for nothing, and way he stammered, " _It_ — _it's all right, Rhen,"_ after she screamed, and— and—

How the color slowly rose in his face as she shouted at him, and the light went out of his eyes— those eyes that had understood her in ways she didn't understand herself— and the old guarded look of his face came back, like a prison door closing and the lock clicking, and he wouldn't look at her no matter what she shrieked at him—

What had she said? She wished she knew, but all that was clear was that she was alone again, and it was her own stupid fault this time. The others were all still at the tavern, where she'd left them when she'd run away. She'd run from the pirates, and from the hurt faces of her friends— from the deadness in Dameon's dark eyes— and mostly from her stupid, idiot self.

Pa would tell her she shouldn't turn her back on her problems. She needed to fix what she had broken. She needed to be brave.

But she wasn't brave. She was impulsive, sometimes, and people thought that was courage, but courageous people didn't run away. She did, she had run away in more ways than one. She remembered how it felt to be in Clearwater— not like home anymore, not like a place that knew her. It was a hiding place. All the things people asked her to do had seemed farther away there. Courageous people didn't hide. A brave person would do what was needed, would stand up for herself and would stand up for all the helpless people in the world, stepping boldly into the unknown, not longing always for security that was far past. Not like her.

A brave person would not still be afraid of pirates, for something that had happened so long ago.

And, certainly, a brave person would not have yelled at her friends.

But perhaps, at least, an impulsive person might pretend to be brave. She could apologize for her stupidity, and could maybe be forgiven, and then, possibly, things would go back to how they were before.

She was shaking, but she wanted to try.

So she got up, and dusted herself off and tried to straighten her hair. She readjusted the sword on her back— because she was still scared, and it made her feel safer— and she went back to the tavern.

There were more pirates inside now, she guessed because it was closer to dinnertime. She saw her group sitting in the back and she tried to make her way towards them.

But it was so crowded, and she didn't want to touch any of the pirates because they smelled and they were glaring at her and they were making her nervous— she reached back to feel for her sword, to reassure herself—

And her arm bumped into someone. "Sorry," she said quickly, but he turned to scowl at her.

"Scurvy landlubber!" he gritted between black teeth, and grabbed her wrist in rough hands, like _those_ hands—

"Hey!" she protested, but he ignored her—

"I warned yer kind not ter touch me," he said, his gaze flicking momentarily to the corner where she knew her friends were before settling back on her.

"Leave me alone!"

But his grip tightened and she couldn't pull her arm free— "Whining whelp," he growled, and she was afraid of him, and she hated him, and she didn't have time for this right now— she reached for her sword with her other hand—

"Let go of me or I'll—"

She didn't get to finish her threat because the pirate's head was abruptly knocked to the side, and he let go of her wrist to touch his jaw, and Rhen looked to see who had helped her and saw Dameon, nursing bloody knuckles, looking angry and a little surprised and a bit shy—

"You'll pay fer that," the pirate said, balling his fist and pulling back his arm to take a swing at the priest—

But suddenly Rhen was jumping between them, roaring "Don't touch him!"— and she was shaking and her heart was thumping painfully but she wasn't going to move.

The pirate looked taken aback, his bushy eyebrows raised high, and slowly his fist dropped to his side. And then, unexpectedly, a grin cracked across his face, and he _laughed._ "Well, aren't you a feisty lass!"

Rhen didn't know how to respond to this so she just growled.

The pirate chuckled. "Go on!" he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I been hit worse before. Teach yer dog to punch."

With that he turned back to his drink, and Rhen was left trembling before the real enemy— herself, and her stupid pride—

"Rhen," Dameon began, reaching for her—

"Don't touch me," she said between gritted teeth, not because she didn't want him to hold her but because her pulse was still pounding and she was still shaking. "What possessed you to punch him?"

Dameon's eyes— dark and lifeless— met hers. "I— didn't want him to hurt you."

She just wanted everything to be all right between them again, but she was afraid to say the only words that might help.

"I'm— such— a coward," she managed.

There was a moment of nothing but the raucous conversations of drunk seamen and the stink of molding wood, like _that_ ship, the one she hated— and then Dameon said, slowly and quietly, "You are the bravest person I know."

She swallowed hard, and hesitated for an awful moment before hiding her face in his broad chest— brave people didn't hide, but she did, and brave people didn't cry but maybe that was only because they didn't have a place to leave their tears, and she felt secure enough, now, to say those frightening words—

"I'm sorry— for being angry," she said, or she meant to say it, but it came out a whisper. "I didn't mean it. I was just— afraid."

He had stiffened at first, like he always had before, but now he was holding her gently. His hands were warm and soft. "It's okay, Rhen," he said, and she heard in the slight breaking of his voice that he would protect her, even if he couldn't punch for crap—which was both alarming and reassuring. She pulled away from him to look into his eyes. The lights were coming back.

"Is— are the others still angry with me?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Good," she said, and swallowed. "I would like— to apologize to them, too. Will— will you come with me?"

He kissed her hand, and said, "Anywhere," and it was the silliest, sappiest thing she had ever heard.

But she believed him.


	20. Deserted

**_Deserted_**

 _Honestly someone should confiscate my keyboard, but no one has as of yet so here, have some angst! And fluff, always fluff._

 _This piece happens a little after the party gets to the Southern Isle. Dameon gets lost and *someone* has to find him. You'll never guess who… or will you?_

* * *

Normally Dameon was pretty observant. He wasn't about to tell Lars, but that was part of his training as a healer. Warriors— Rhen, especially— had a stubborn way of ignoring their injuries, so he had to notice for them. So _normally_ he would have been paying attention to where the rest of the group walked, and he wouldn't have lagged behind, and he wouldn't have gotten so hopelessly lost.

But he had been thinking of his father, and for once Dameon had been able to picture his face without seeing blood, without hearing the harsh sounds of his parents fighting each other, _killing_ each other. He had been remembering how proud his father had been when he first discovered his magic. He'd been thinking of that small smile on his father's face when he showed him that first spell, which had taken _months_ to perfect.

He had been pondering over whether or not his father would be proud or disappointed with him— he had so rarely been proud, but Dameon was stronger now. And he had wondered if his father would like Rhen— of course he would, Rhen was so forthright, and capable, and everything Dameon wished he could be—

He had been lost in thoughts like these, and now here he was, in the desert, in the middle of the day, with the sun pounding down on him and the sand getting into every corner of his immortal soul, and without any clue where he was or where anyone else in Aia was. He felt like he had been walking for years, but it couldn't have been have been more than an hour or so because they'd only left the skudder late that morning.

What he hadn't been taught, as a healer, was how to get unlost. If he remembered which direction they were going, or even where they had come from, he could have followed the sun. But he couldn't remember, and he and the sun were not on speaking terms right now because it was _hot_ , and he was miserable.

He had promised Rhen he wouldn't get in the way. That had been her one condition, when he started travelling with them, " _Just don't get in the way_." He thought he'd done pretty well, until that morning. But now they were going to have to go out of their way to find him, and that was a lot of walking around in this burning sunlight that they shouldn't have to do— _wouldn't_ have to do, if he had just stayed in the Sun Temple, where he was supposed to be.

He had been lost once before, as a small child. He hated to remember _those_ days, but they followed him always, like his own shadow.

He had run away. He couldn't remember why, but— there had been raised voices, and angry words, and he had been upset.

He'd only meant to go to his usual hiding place, a twisted tree just a little ways from the Tear Shrine. But he must have gone past it, because he hadn't been able to find it, and soon he didn't recognize his surroundings. So he'd tried to turn back, but then he couldn't find the Tear Shrine either—

He pushed the memory away, forcefully. He needed to find the others, before they had to search for him. And before he died of sunstroke— and wouldn't that just be a perfectly ironic way for him to go?

He could have sworn he'd seen that cactus before. But everything in the desert looked the same. Just like in the Dreamworld. Maybe he was going in circles. Or maybe the desert just never ended, and he would wander through it forever until his bones turned to sand and his soul became lost like those disembodied cries he kept hearing in the wind— like some forgotten spirit calling out for _something_ , something that wouldn't come because Dameon was the only one around to hear.

It hadn't been like that in the Dreamworld. He had known that the screeches belonged to the shivens. The horrible cackling came from the dream witches. And the low, rumbling whinny— that was a nightmare.

He remembered the chill that had run through him as he realized it. His father had warned him about the nightmares. They would take his soul, and twist it, and turn him into a night monster— he had been too young to really understand, but the fierce look in his father's eyes was enough to instill an eternal terror in him, and he'd promised, _promised_ , to stay away from them, to stay near the Tear Shrine, where he would be safe.

He recalled the sick, twisting feeling in his stomach as he'd realized how awfully he'd broken that promise, and how dreadfully lost he was. He remembered crying for his parents and thinking that they wouldn't come because they were angry with him, and they didn't, _couldn't_ , love him because he had been so bad—

 _No_. Dameon pulled himself from the memory, sharply, and tried to focus on his surroundings. He scanned the horizon for something, _anything_ , that looked like a town, or a person, or maybe a road. Anything that might indicate he wasn't alone in the desert— but there was nothing.

He ground his teeth and would have liked to cry, but he wasn't a child anymore. He could take care of himself. He could get out of this— this— _desert_. He didn't need to be rescued anymore, like he had _then_ —

The nightmare had found him, and charged at him. He'd scrambled out of the way but soon he was trapped against a glowberry bush that he'd tried to hide in, and the nightmare let out a terrible cry—

That's when his father had appeared, and the whole world had suddenly been on fire— bright lights, colliding and exploding and shaking everything, shaking Dameon's very being— and the nightmare had screamed, and retreated, and Dameon had run to his father, his hero—

Dameon angrily dashed the tears from his eyes. It had been so long ago. It shouldn't matter anymore. It shouldn't be painful. But—

His father had looked at him so coldly. Dameon knew he had disappointed him. He had crouched down on the ground in front of his rescuer, and tried to apologize, and promised to do better, to be better—

Dameon tripped in the sand, over nothing, and caught himself on his hands. He didn't try to get back up— he had failed. He hadn't done better. He was lost again, and his father couldn't save him this time. He deserved his fate. He deserved to die out here alone in the desert, with no witness but the burning sun— and if he cried it was only because he was weak, he was a coward, still, after all these years—

" _Look, over there!_ "

" _Is it him?_ "

" _Dameon! Dameon!_ "

He looked up, and there, running towards him, was Rhen, with her braid swinging and her eyes sparkling. She was throwing her sword and her shield to the side, almost hitting Elini and Lars, who were behind her— and Galahad was there, too, and Te'ijal. Dameon tried to stand up to meet them but Rhen flew into him, and knocked him to the ground again, clinging tightly to his neck—

"Dameon! Where have you been? We thought the coyotes got you, or— or Elini was saying there are demons out here!" Her little hands were pushing his hair back into place, and wiping his eyes, which were still wet, and all he could do was stare up at her— "Dameon, you are so sunburned, why didn't you stay put so we could find you? You scared me half to death! Just ask Lars—"

"It's true," Lars said dryly, rolling his eyes. And Elini was pushing a waterskin towards him, and Rhen was taking it and guiding it to his mouth, and Galahad had brought cheese— _cheese_ , of course he had, he was from Sedona—

And Dameon should have known that Rhen would find him. She was always there, when he needed someone, and he should have known, by now, that he could trust her, that she was strong enough and brave enough to do whatever was necessary, that she was kind enough to be gentle with him. She had saved him, _again_. And he really believed, in that moment, that she always would.


	21. Reckless

**Reckless**

 _Rhen gets injured in the demon caves in Veldt. Pretty much everything is explained so just read it. (Please? :D)_

* * *

She was reckless. Her impulses were the storms that tore across her own desert, uprooting everything that had dared to grow, making long deep trenches like so many wounds, leaving her desolate.

Something always healed her. Like the constant force of gravity pulling, pulling the displaced dirt back into the trenches, repairing, restoring. Like the bright sun feeding the roots and seeds that were left, encouraging them to grow deeper, to hold tighter to the soil. She didn't know what it was, but it was making her stronger.

And she needed to be stronger, because the world was getting bigger and scarier all the time.

Like now. Now, they were on the Southern Isle, a place she'd barely heard rumors of before this quest. Like most places they went these days, really. And they were exploring the _Demon Caves_ , which were literally caves full of demons.

She shouldn't complain, since it had been _her_ idea, but what _wasn't_ her idea was finding and retrieving six druids, one of which had her temple in these demon caves. And it definitely hadn't been Rhen's idea for all of these druids to have lost their souls to daevas.

Also, no matter what Lars or anyone else said, it had most certainly _not_ been her plan to be ambushed by red and blue dragons.

They were all attacking Elini. The demon summoner spun and snapped her whip but there were too many; Rhen didn't think, she just leaped, slicing and blocking and singing a spell which might have been _Time Twist_ , but she didn't know—

"AOWW!" There was a sharp pain where her leg should be, and she couldn't hear anything except her heart going _thump, thump_ , and the cave was spinning, and she was falling, and the world was black—

And next she was aware of a low sound, warm and soothing. Her head hurt but the sound, strangely, seemed to help. Her heart, which, she realized, had been pounding wildly, slowed to a steady beat, and the sound flowed on, softly...

It was a voice, murmurings spells. _Spells_. No, the battle—

"Agh—"

"Rhen, it's all right. Lie back down, slowly—" a warm hand on her back, dark brown eyes above her.

"Dameon—"

He lowered her gently onto the sleeping mat he was kneeling beside. "Everyone is all right. Please, rest."

She was in a dark cavern. A small fire was burning, illuminating the area just enough for her to see that Dameon was right; everyone was fine. Elini sat patching a hole in one of her skirts. Galahad and Te'ijal stood guard at the cavern's entrance. Dameon was looking down at her with a worried, tired little frown.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You fainted. I... couldn't get to you in time."

"My leg—" she remembered.

He waved a hand. "It is healed."

She realized that it was. "Thank you."

He only grunted, and looked away.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing is wrong." But the way he said it clearly meant that something _was_. Was he angry at her?

 _Reckless, stupid_ — "I'm sorry for rushing into the battle like that. I should have been more careful."

He didn't even look at her.

"More imps, uplanders!" Te'ijal warned, and Rhen heard the scuffling sounds of her companions rushing to join the battle. She moved to get up but Dameon frowned, now looking at her quite severely.

"Stay there, sword singer."

"But I—"

"Rhen, please!" And then he was gone, battling beside the others. Rhen heard the familiar hum of his _Shield Exura_ , covering even herself, and she pouted.

"I CAN STILL FIGHT," she yelled, even though she knew nobody would hear her over the imps' cackling and Lars's chanting and Galahad's battle cries.

"It isn't fair," she muttered. "I know I made a stupid mistake but I'm fine now. I can fight!" It was a lie, she knew. Her leg still ached and her chest felt heavy. But she _wanted_ to fight.

One of Lars's thunderstorms briefly illuminated the cavern, and she saw Elini catching an imp in her whip and Dameon whacking at one with his staff. She smiled in spite of herself. She was pretty sure the party could get by without Dameon's offensive abilities, but it was sort of cute that he tried.

She heard a few more smacks and clangs and magical crackling noises, and then the sound of weapons being put away. The battle was over. The hum of the shield around her faded, and she saw Dameon walking towards her again.

She looked quickly towards the cavern's ceiling. She didn't like him being angry at her. It made her feel… lonely and scared and… mad! She'd only made one tiny mistake, and he'd healed her easily enough. Why was he taking it so personally?

She tried to ignore the nagging memories of all the _other_ mistakes she made, and all the _other_ injuries she could have avoided with a little more caution, and then Dameon was kneeling beside her.

She resolutely stared at the ceiling. "Don't be mad at me."

She felt him shifting beside her, and then he said, tiredly, "What?"

"I know I should have been more careful, and that I do stupid things all the time, but I haven't done anything _really_ stupid yet. You can always heal me just fine, so I don't see why you should be mad—"

"Rhen, I am not mad at you."

Now she felt surprised and embarrassed and relieved, and she had to look at him, and his dark eyes. "Then... what's the matter?"

He looked down at his hands, and plucked at his robes.

"Dameon?"

She thought for a moment that he would refuse to answer, but then he said, his face burning, "You jumped into battle so fast— I didn't have time—" he seemed to struggle with himself, his usually smooth voice was choked. "I was too slow— couldn't shield you. Rhen, I— you were almost— I—" he swallowed. "I'm sorry, Rhen."

He was shaking beside her, his hands wringing the ends of his robes into tight little wads.

She stared up at him, feeling like Aia's biggest idiot. "You were mad at... at yourself?"

He hesitated and then nodded, a short, jerky little motion.

Slowly, she reached out and put her hand on his trembling ones. "Dameon, I—" she found that she didn't know how to express the feeling that was swelling up inside her. But she had to say it, _somehow—_ it was too big for her chest _._ "You— should forgive yourself. You healed me. I couldn't have made it this far without you. I—" she stopped herself, suddenly knowing what she meant and unable to say it, and she finished self-consciously, "I need you."

His dark eyes came up to meet hers, and the anxiety clouding them melted in the firelight and something like hope seemed to shine through, and then, slowly and gently, he raised her hand to his lips.


	22. Given the Choice

**Given the Choice**

 _THIS PIECE IS VERY IMPORTANT LATER so pay attention:)_

 _If I may make a disclaimer, I would like to say I am in no way advocating the "do whatever makes you happy" lifestyle, because, if hurting people makes you happy, that's bad. But this short is about Rhen, and Rhen needs to be reminded that she is an autonomous being and she is allowed to be happy. I have this ridiculous long essay that explains why I think Dameon would be the one to remind her of this, but I will spare you. You're welcome. On with the fluff!_

 _This scene happens in Veldt, before they get Pirate John. They're staying at the inn, because in the game we can't stay at Elini's, which is super weird, but whatever._

* * *

Elini didn't have any spare rooms, due to the number of husbands ( _three!_ ) and servants she had, so the party had to stay at the inn that night. Rhen didn't mind; inns could be nice when they were clean, and the inn at Veldt was especially luxurious. But the problem was, whenever they stayed in an inn, her companions wanted to eat out.

And Rhen didn't want to go tonight, because she'd found the stupid Pendragon sigma ring in the bottom of her pack that morning, and she wanted an evening to sulk about it.

"Are you ready, Rhen?" Dameon called from the other side of her door.

"No!" she snapped. It was the first time she had said it, but nobody had asked her what she wanted in the first place.

"What's taking her so long?" she heard Lars complaining.

"I don't think she wants to go," Dameon said.

Lars scoffed. "That's ridiculous. She's always hungry. Rhen, hurry up!" He raised his voice for the last part.

" _No!_ "

"Don't yell at her," she heard Dameon saying, but Lars must not have been listening, because he kept yelling anyway.

"We'll leave without you!"

"Good!" she yelled back.

"What is the cause of all this shouting?" she heard Galahad asking pompously, and Rhen couldn't help glaring even though nobody could see her.

"Rhen is being stubborn," Lars said. "We'll just go without her. Where are the others?"

"They are waiting at the entrance," Galahad said, and then Rhen heard their retreating footsteps and the hallway fell silent.

 _Oh_. Somehow, she hadn't expected them to _actually_ go without her. Everything was quiet, for once, and even though she'd been wishing for a little quiet for months, it felt kind of... lonely.

She glared at the stupid sigma ring in her hand. "I didn't ask for you," she informed it. "I just wanted to be a normal, poor, happy person."

She tried to imagine herself like that, like a simple villager with no magical sword abilities and no destiny to speak of. But _things_ kept coming up, like the rushing exhilaration in her chest at the start of a battle, the thrill of moving, _dancing_ , with her blade, the feeling of invincibility as one of Dameon's shields settled around her—

And she kept remembering how it felt to save Dirkon from the rats, and to bring Tiny back to her fairy prince, and she kept thinking of the shy, secret sort of smile Dameon would give her after such quests. She couldn't imagine a life where she didn't know that smile.

She didn't pass her days in apple orchards anymore, she spent her time with a vampire who wanted to see the sun, and with a demon summoner who had three husbands and was looking for more, and with a sorcerer, and a king's paladin, and Dameon— and a sun priest, she meant. And _the Druid of Light_ , she meant—

It was crazy. It was _absurd._ It was her life.

She couldn't _be_ a normal person. Maybe she could be poor, if she stopped looting corpses. And maybe she could be happy, if—

There was a knock at the door, and she almost dropped the ring. _Who_ —"What?" she snapped, shoving the stupid ring into her pocket.

"Would— would you like to eat now, Rhen?"

She threw open the door and found herself looking up at Dameon. "What— I— I thought you all left," she stammered, feeling her face get hot.

"No, I—" his ears were pink and he cleared his throat. "I was worried about you. It isn't like you to refuse food."

"I—" she traced the sigma ring in her pocket. "I—" she stared at him helplessly, wanting to tell him and also very much wanting to run away.

"It's okay," he said, touching her elbow. "You don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

"I— don't?"

"Of course not." He smiled gently at her, a lovely, soothing sort of smile that made a warm, comfortable feeling settle in her chest.

"Thank you," she said, smiling too and blushing because she wondered, suddenly, how his smile would feel pressed to hers. She looked down. "I am getting hungry," she admitted, and scuffed the ground with her boot.

"Me too!" he said, so excitedly she had to look at him again, and see how his smile widened and his cheeks lifted the corners of his eyes. He swung a brown pack off his shoulder. "I thought we could make sandwiches, so we wouldn't have to leave the inn—" his grin slipped, "unless— if you wanted to, of course— I meant—"

She laughed because she felt... _happy_ , and put a finger over his lips. "Sandwiches sound great."

* * *

They had a magnificent feast. They had laid out everything— the bread and meat and cheese and even a few various vegetables— on one of the inn's tables. The innkeeper looked at the two diners distastefully, but Rhen just flaunted her sword a bit and no one bothered them.

Dameon sliced the bread and the meat, and grinned at her, and made her sandwiches however she wanted, even when she asked for two slabs of meat around a slice of bread, and he didn't even raise his eyebrows at her once.

Rhen ate four sandwiches, and a half, because Dameon, groaning and admitting himself to be utterly defeated, gave her the rest of his third one. And Rhen couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard or so long.

And then she tripped over her own stupid feet while trying to help Dameon clean up, and she was suddenly sprawled all over the floor.

"Rhen!" Dameon hurried over to her, dropping the brown bag he had been repacking. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He was kneeling beside her, helping her sit up, and then he was healing the ankle she'd twisted, all before she could make herself say a word—

"I— I—" she stammered, embarrassed to have shown herself to be so clumsy, _again_ , and then he was picking something up off the ground beside her.

"What's this?"

Rhen recognized the sigma ring and snatched it out of his hands. "It's nothing," she said quickly, darkly, not feeling at all like laughing anymore. "Just my stupid destiny."

She could feel him staring at her, but she looked stubbornly at the ground.

"Rhen—" he said, in the same urgent but careful voice he used when she was injured. "You— are not required to do what— everyone else wants. You are allowed make your own choices."

She scoffed and looked at him, and was surprised to find that his expression was so completely sincere, and his dark eyes were so intensely certain, that she almost believed him.

"Rhen, you are a person, too," he continued, touching her hand and then coloring and looking away. "I— I know that— _they_ can be overbearing." He didn't have to tell her who. "Don't let them overrule you. Please," he looked at her again and his cheeks were a burning red but his eyes were piercing hers, "choose what makes you happy."

 _Happy_. Maybe she couldn't be normal, and being poor didn't sound all that great by itself anyway, but maybe, _maybe_ , at least for now, happiness was possible.

"I— I would like to choose some dessert."

He smiled softly. "Okay. What would you like for dessert?"

She grinned, and whispered in his ear.


	23. Do You Mind?

**Do You Mind?**

 _This one happens in Veldt, and… yeah, that's pretty much it for the setting. Oh, yes, and I totally steal lines from the manor for this scene and I'm not even sorry. This is fanfiction._

* * *

In Rhen's immovable, inflexible, and obviously correct opinion, the women of Veldt paid way too much attention to her travelling companions. Especially the males.

Well, okay. So it didn't bother her when they teased Lars. Lars seemed to hate it, but he also seemed to thrive on it, and anyway he could take care of himself.

And Rhen also had to admit she didn't particularly mind the female Veldtonian's pointed looks in Galahad's direction. Their gazes did tend to make the paladin blush furiously, and he always stepped away from them, and invariably ended up closer to Te'ijal— and then he had to leap back, and would find himself too close to the desert women again, and this was a somewhat tedious and annoying cycle, but it at least kept Te'ijal occupied so Rhen didn't have to worry about what poor undeserving souls the vampress was terrorizing. So as far as the sword singer was concerned, it really didn't matter one way or the other.

But _sometimes_ , some of the tanned, exotic, alluring women would turn their attention to Dameon, and _that_ was— was—

Well. Rhen didn't have any excuse that she wanted to share, but it was definitely different, and she definitely minded it. And so, stupid as it was, whenever one of the Veldtonians looked at the Sun Priest, Rhen stepped closer to him, even though it was filthy hot out and she was already swimming in a pool of sweat and she definitely didn't need any of his body heat— and he was _very_ warm, by the way, and the blazing blush that was burning on Rhen's face was not helping at all.

But still, the southerners kept looking at him! Rhen tried displaying her sword, drawing it every once in a while to let the sun glint off the sharp edges, but that had about zero effect on the Veldtonians and mostly just seemed to make Dameon nervous. So Rhen put the sword away and tried glaring.

But her face hurt, and the members of her party were starting to give her funny looks.

Especially Elini, Elini was looking at her like she had a militant squirrel in her hair.

She could think of only one other solution, but it was terrifying— _terrifying_ , to the person who had taken down Nanghaithya as a fledgling sword singer. Daunting to the girl who had traipsed into vampire country with nothing but a few dinky pieces of armor and a garlic necklace, _fearsome_ to she who had defeated Zarich, and Tawrich, and Indra! Frightening even to her, to Rhen Darzon, or Pendragon— or whatever her dang surname was supposed to be now.

The thing she wanted to do, and it was very embarrassing, but what terrified her so much was the idea that maybe, _maybe,_ the Veldtonian women would stop looking at Dameon if— if—

If she held his hand.

See, it was very stupid. She had held his hand before. He held _her_ hand all the time, to kiss it. But this was... different! Because everyone was watching! Or— or really it was because— because—

This wasn't a _friendly_ feeling that was making her stand so close to him, that was making her hand twitch at her side. This wasn't because she wanted to lead him somewhere, or offer comfort, or even because she was cold or tired. This— was— _jealousy_ —

"Are you enjoying my home country, sword singer?"

Rhen whirled to face Elini— and nearly smacked Dameon with her braid. Her cheeks were red but not because she was sunburned, and her palms were sweaty but it wasn't because of the heat—

"Er— I guess. I mean, it's very hot— warm! I meant warm. In a good way. I— er—"

Elini just smiled at her, and raised her delicate Veldtonian eyebrows. "You might find the sun more bearable, if you weren't standing so close to the Sun Pri—"

" _Oh_ , look at that lovely cactus!" Rhen interrupted quickly. And really it might have been a lovely cactus, if she hadn't seen so many already, and if it wasn't so hot out— and mostly if that young, pretty woman over there wasn't looking at their party so curiously, and— and— _coming towards them?!_

"Elinidana'ter'Lithir de Aramati!" The woman walked past Rhen and stretched out her arms to Elini. "I see you are back from your travels. Tell me, are these three men your conquests?"

Rhen's hands clenched into fists and she almost said something rude— she didn't know what, but Elini answered first—

"No, no, these men are not mine. My search continues."

Rhen's fists relaxed for just a moment and she even thought her breathing was almost regular.

"I _see_ ," the woman said shrewdly, and her gaze— an appealing gaze rimmed with dark lashes— moved to where Lars was standing. "I did think the two wielders seemed rather young for you."

Lars _hmphed_ and rolled his eyes, and the woman frowned and looked instead towards Rhen, _past_ Rhen, at Dameon, and Rhen couldn't step any closer to him— her arms were dripping with sweat and her fingers itched and Dameon's hand was _right there_ — she tried to reach for it but she couldn't move. She couldn't tear her eyes from the Veldtonian woman, with her gauzy flowing skirts and almond eyes, and Rhen's sense had melted right out of her head and into the sand and all she felt was _red, red, red_ —

Then long, sweaty fingers were wrapping around her hand, and dark eyes were looking down into hers and then moving towards the Veldtonian woman, and a low voice was saying, very politely, "I'm sorry, m'lady, but I don't want to be your husband."

The woman tossed her head, and turned towards Galahad— and seemed to think better of it when she saw Te'ijal. And then she was saying goodbye to Elini, and walking away—

And Rhen realized Dameon was still holding onto her hand, and her palms were sweaty, and _his_ palms were sweaty, and sticky, and the lack of space between them was hot enough to melt her sword—

And she didn't mind.


	24. Serious Matters

**_Serious Matters_**

 _Rhen has the cutest sense of humor ever, and I had to write about it. This piece covers parts of the game from a bit before Galahad joins the party to when they have the genie's lamp and can *technically* defeat Saurva (but we all know you gotta train up for that because those lamp monsters are VICIOUS). All the jokes except the last one were actually in the game. Very sunny and silly. Happy spring!_

* * *

Rhen had _insisted_ that they bring the elf statuette to Ylisfar. It seemed to be one of her jokes, her very serious jokes, and they all smiled and went along with it. Mostly because they weren't ready to face those monsters in that lamp yet. But for Dameon, it was also because he was all tangled up in her sense of humor and he didn't know where hers ended and his started, not anymore—

But anyway, that's why they were in the meadow near Brumwich. Elini had wanted to stop for a rest before going down into Rootwell and fighting all those nippets and krackens, and nobody had the energy to argue— which was probably a good indication that they _should_ stop. Dameon was trying to spend the time working on a new shield spell. But instead he kept looking at Rhen, who was sitting cross legged in the grass looking very enchanting and weaving a flower crown out of bright pink and yellow flowers. He wondered what sort of mischief she had planned _this_ time.

He had begun to realize she was hilarious in Sedona, when she'd offered to exchange a stick figure drawing for a ticket to a ball— and all so she could buy a manor, which they would barely use because they would be scouring every corner of Aia for druids and daevas and who knew what else. At first he had thought she'd finally snapped under the pressure of trying to save the world, but then he had noticed something sort of cavalier in the way she stood, and it had gradually dawned on him, with all the slow solemnity of the Oracle ascending the stairs of the Sun Temple, that Rhen was making a _joke_.

The funniest part was, it worked. Frederick actually gave them his ticket. And watching Rhen smile and giggle and look completely delighted, Dameon had felt a strange quivering sensation in his throat. And he hadn't known what to do with that, so he just stood in the back and tried to ignore it, hoping it wouldn't happen again.

But it did happen again, over and over.

He remembered when she offered to pay the thieves double to tell them who had tried to assassinate the king. He had been nervous, he recalled, but again there had been that sort of offhanded, confident air about her that made the whole frightening ordeal seem— _silly._ It had seemed silly, and his throat shook again and he'd swallowed hard and focused on controlling his breathing.

It wasn't like he hadn't laughed before. Just, maybe, not very _often_. But he sometimes chuckled because Lars was so ridiculously hotheaded, or because Te'ijal was too creepy to be taken seriously, or just because Rhen was laughing, and she was charming and warm— or, she made him feel warm, and—

Anyway, he _did_ laugh. It was just _different_ to laugh at the sort of ironic, silly jokes that Rhen tended to make. Where he would have felt awkward, she was whimsical. She saw the humor in all that was grave and heavy. She made light of all those things that would have weighed him down, and if he laughed—

If he laughed, he knew he would never be the same.

So when she'd stood over that silly toad in the Sandstone Caves, with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high— exactly like a princess, and a rebel— and said in that same dramatic voice she had used before, "I'll warn you one more time, Toad. Let the girl go or die," Dameon hadn't laughed, even though his throat convulsed like he had swallowed a bini, or maybe a fairy—

 _Oh_ , the fairies. She had realized they needed to make peace between the Mountain King and the Snow Queen if they were going to get to the demon in the Snow Queen's basement, and of _course_ the only logical way to do that was to bring a fairy to the king. She knew the whole situation was ridiculous and that was the part that was funny— so funny that Dameon's lungs ached, but he kept his mouth closed and his eyes down until the feeling passed.

They defeated the demon and _that_ had definitely not been funny. But then Te'ijal had wanted to visit the Mountain King and Ice Queen, _just to see._ So they went to the caves behind Thornkeep, and the Mountain King looked at them very imperiously and said in a deep, rumbling voice, "Welcome, Southerners. What news have you of the world?"

Rhen had straightened so that she looked just as royal as the two rulers standing before her, and said, in that irresistible tone that was a parody of dignity, "Demons have broken loose and are now roaming the land."

Dameon wasn't made out of stone or ice, or even out of the same noble stuff that allowed Lars and Elini and Galahad to watch this exchange with straight faces, and when the Mountain King spluttered "WHAT?!" his lungs burned, and his throat trembled, and before he could stop himself he was laughing—

And Rhen had blushed and didn't look half so solemn anymore, especially not as she stammered, "Er, just kidding. Ha. Ha. Ha," or as she took Dameon's elbow and pulled him out of the cave, murmuring something about what had come over him, he should really try to be a bit more respectful—

"But Rhen, it was _your_ joke," he'd reminded her, and even though she was raising her eyebrows at him he couldn't take her seriously, he couldn't take _himself_ seriously, so he'd kissed her pink little nose, twice, and he hadn't been able feel dignified again until she smiled and laughed too, which made no sense at all but he didn't mind because she was very charming, and it wasn't so bad, to never be the same again, as long as she was with him to guide him through this new way of feeling, of being—

So he'd lost, in the end, and he'd ended up laughing with Rhen about the genie in the lamp, and about having to fight the Veldt queen's favorite husband, and he'd laughed when she bought the pirate sails, too. Lars had _not_ found it amusing, but Elini had seemed to like the idea, and Rhen had shrugged and spent 1300 gold on them.

Then Galahad reminded them, very loudly, that the citizens of Sedona would not tolerate pirate sails in their docks, so the party had dropped their anchor near the lowlands instead. And that was when Rhen decided they were going to bring the elf statuette to Ylisfar, and now—

She was looking up at him and blushing, and he realized he'd been staring at her, and smiling very stupidly.

"Hi, Dameon," she said, looking back down at the flower crown she was making.

"Hi, Rhen," is what he said, but what he thought was that the pastel colors of the flowers brought out the deep violetness of her eyes and the blue lowlights in her hair, and that she was completely radiant—

"What are you smiling at?"

He laughed— again— just because she was lovely. "Those flowers go very nicely with your eyes," he said, and crouched next to her to pick one and tuck it behind her little ear. "See? Now you look just like a fairy."

She blushed again and then grinned. "No, Dameon, _you_ look just like a fairy." And she plopped that silly flower crown onto his head, and made him wear it while they visited the elves, which was very immature, and undignified, and—

Hilarious.


	25. Back and Forth

**Back and Forth**

 _For reference, the party has returned Eithera to Aveyond, gotten Pirate John and Mad Marge, and is on the way to get a dragon. Also, I have Dameon trying to learn a spell from a spellbook, because even though one for him is never mentioned in the game, in Ahriman's Prophecy there is a book in the Collegium of War and Magick that says spells must be studied to be learned. So._

 _Yeah, I'm a nerd._

* * *

They had stopped for lunch on the beach, at Pirate John's request. Galahad said it was hot and Te'ijal said it was romantic, or amusing, she couldn't seem to decide which. Lars thought it was sandy, and Elini's hair kept getting in her mouth. Mad Marge sneered at her and told her to cut it, and Rhen told her Dameon could braid it, and swung her own braid around to show the demon summoner, which Dameon thought was very cute and also very—

There was a kind of twisting in his stomach that reminded him how frail things like this were. He had been so— happy, recently, and the last time he had been this happy—

It could all end, it could all end quickly, and he would be powerless to stop it, just like before.

He had to do something, he had to be prepared this time.

So he had excused himself, and walked farther down the desert beach to look for a quiet place to study. He'd found a cove, which shielded him from view, and he'd taken out his spellbook and sat down to try to learn the one offensive spell a Sun Priest could learn, _Sun Fury_.

It was an ancient spell, older, perhaps, than even Vata. He had seen his father use it only very, very rarely, when he was in danger, or when his... when his _mother_ was in danger. And one horrible time, _against_ his mother, on _that_ night.

He didn't want to remember, not _now_. He had to concentrate if he was going to figure this spell out. He glared down at the book in his hands— it had been his father's.

 _Father_. _Mother_. The words did not mean what they once did. They did not mean the same from one moment to the next. _Father_ , someone he had loved, who had protected him, and taught him— someone who had died, who had left him when he was most in need. _Mother_ , someone he had trusted, someone who had betrayed him carelessly—

Someone who wanted his forgiveness.

The gentle back and forth of the waves on the beach should have soothed him, but instead it flustered him, _back, and forth, and back—_ like his thoughts, and he couldn't escape either.

He used to think his mother was evil, for what she had done, for how she had broken their family. But today, the party was going to capture a Tehyor dragon. Tehyor dragons could not abide evil. And he couldn't help thinking, as he sat alone in the sand, with the waves crashing in front of him— what if— if he _could_ forgive his mother, if he had forgiveness anywhere in his soul, then maybe— maybe, his family could be _un_ -broken. And maybe the emptiness in him, the lack of anything light— maybe _that_ was the real evil. Maybe the dragon would kill him.

He was afraid to die— _and back, and forth, and back, and forth—_

The waves were like him. Inconstant. Unsteady. Advancing only to retreat again. Forming only to break against the beach, against _sand—_

He had fainted during a battle that morning. He was always fainting, he couldn't fight back when attacked, like the others could. He _hated_ it— the cold sweat, the foggy spinning feeling in his head, the sour taste in his mouth and the knotted feeling in his gut, like he'd been punched, and most of all how helpless and pathetic and useless he was, and how vulnerable he left everyone else, and especially—

 _Especially_ , he hated how vulnerable he left Rhen, and maybe it was selfish of him, and maybe he didn't care.

That's why he had to learn _Sun Fury_. He couldn't leave her without shields, or healing, not anymore—

Eithera had made him realize it. Eithera was invincible, and terrifying, she could probably break him in two if she felt like it, and he had no evidence she _didn't_ feel like it— but she had taken an immediate liking to Rhen, and before they had arrived in Aveyond she had told Dameon, in a low voice, " _If I had any intention of retiring in the next century, I would make the sword swinger my successor_."

And then, almost indifferently, " _It is too bad she will die before then_."

He'd turned to stare at her, and she'd scoffed. " _Foolish child! Being the Chosen One does not give her immortality. Do you forget?_ "

He had not forgotten, only... he had not _remembered_ , and—

It was not fair, that Rhen would die, after all she had done for the world, and all she still intended to do—

He could do almost nothing about it. All those useless defensive spells he had— he could protect her from injury, from nearly every kind of magical attack, from curses and poisons and broken bones— but against time, every spell he had was powerless.

Vata could protect her, if he chose to, if it were necessary to his all-important _grand scheme of things_. And the Oracle could protect her, if she thought it would help keep the world in balance. _If_ , it all came down to that, to the uncompromising decision of some ancient being who had long forgotten what it was to be _human_ — to be small, and— to be vulnerable.

The sound of the waves pulled him back to reality. _Back, and forth, and back_ —

It was like the way Rhen's braid swayed behind her when she walked— a _nd back, and forth_. He remembered how she blushed when he talked to her— _and back, and forth—_ and he remembered how frighteningly pale she was after a battle when she'd lost too much blood—

It always made Dameon think of his father, on _that_ night, when he lay dying on the stone floor and there had been nothing Dameon could do, just stare and scream—

His father's life had not been important to Vata's grand scheme. It had not been necessary to the balance of Aia. His father, who had been the Druid of Light for _centuries,_ who had protected the Oracle's precious harmony for millennia— he was left to die. Would Rhen's life be valued any higher?

He could not risk it. He had not forgotten what it was to measure life on a different scale than the unbending masters of Aia. He remembered loss. His heart still ached with it. His soul was still numb.

And the waves still advanced and retreated, they never rested, b _ack, and forth, and back—_

Ahriman could protect her. Ahriman could give her immortality, and he wouldn't have any arbitrary _conditions_ , any unmeetable demands. He would grant her life because she was steadfast and strong, and deadly and—

She was also beautiful, in a way that had nothing to do with her smile or her long eyelashes or all her gently curling hair gathered up in a braid behind her, swaying back and forth—

 _And back, and forth—_

She had asked him to braid her hair again that morning. He had been thinking of what Eithera had said, and of what his mother had done, and a smile had been the farthest thing from his mind. But when she gave him her brush and that familiar rosy blush spread over her face, he had smiled without thinking about it, and he forgot about all those dark things and he thought instead of lavender and of how funny it was that he unknotted her hair just to knot it up again— except _more neatly_ , of course. She had laughed when he told her so. Her laugh was beautiful, and loud, and genuine, and if a sound could be made by a candle flickering in a far-away window when everything else was dark, that would be it.

A world without that laugh would be— empty.

He _had_ to learn this spell. He stared down at the book. He couldn't comprehend the words, he was reading them but they were passing through him like ghosts—

 _And back, and forth, and back, and forth—_

He read the words slowly, tested them on his tongue. They felt foreign. It was foolish, to think he could learn a spell like this. He was not powerful, like his father. He did not even know if he was good or evil.

But _not_ learning the spell was not an option. He read it again.

Maybe all he could do would never be enough. He could not even bring his mother to justice— he didn't even always know if he wanted to, or if he _should_ want to—

He could not undo what he had already done. He could not fix what was already broken— _he_ was broken, and if he kept fighting the world and his mother and— _himself_ — maybe he would only ever make it worse.

There was not enough light in Aia to combat the darkness that was inside him.

The words were still unfamiliar. How many times had he read them now? It didn't matter, he had to fight, he had to learn this spell. For Rhen.

He said the words until he remembered them. He remembered them, but he didn't _feel_ them like he should. He put the book down and picked up his staff. He said the words again.

 _Nothing._

He tried to reach for some kind of offensive power inside, something like—

Anger. He was angry at his mother.

He said the words. Nothing.

He was angry at— the Oracle, for dropping the weight of the world on Rhen, for giving her nothing to help her carry it, for not even caring if she lived or died—

Nothing, nothing, _nothing!_

He was angry at— at— at—

 _Himself_ , for not being able to do this, for being so weak and powerless and— broken—

Something happened, something in his stomach that rose up his throat with the words— and it rebounded back against him, painfully—

He tried again. The spell backfired— again. He grunted in frustration. Why couldn't he be like Rhen, dangerous and capable and— _good_ —

Again— it backfired. It wasn't working, he was only destroying himself—

 _Again—_

"Dameon! What are you doing?"

He whirled around and suddenly he was facing Rhen. She was standing at the mouth of the cove, her eyes wide, her lips a quivering pink _o_.

"I— I— I was just trying to learn this— _spell_."

"What— what spell?" Her voice squeaked— he had frightened her. She was walking to him now and he took a step back.

"I— I was practicing _Sun Fury_. It's for— offense."

She had reached him. She put her hand on his staff and he knew she was trembling by how it shook. "Well— _stop_ practicing. You're tired. You need— a break."

" _Rhen..._ " he didn't know how to explain it to her, she didn't understand. He _had_ to practice, he needed to know this spell— he didn't want to scare her. "I— I should be able to do this by now! Sun Priests have been learning this spell for— _millennia_."

"Please, Dameon?" She was looking up at him with her vividly violet eyes— what was beautiful about Rhen was the bottomless look of those eyes, like they could swallow up all the darkness in the world and still sparkle in the sun. Her beauty was kindness and gentleness and all those things which sounded so soft but which were so heavy to carry— which she carried anyway, because she was brave. "Let— let me take care of the offense, okay?" she continued. "I need you to defend me, and to take care of my injuries, and to— to—"

He swallowed down the anger that still shook in his chest, the rage that was mostly shame and fear, and he finished for her, "— To— braid your hair?"

She smiled softly, and then flung her arms around his neck and rested her head on his robes and held him until he forgot to be afraid.

And when they got to the dragon later that day, and it glanced sideways at him and his heart stopped, Rhen just took his hand and pulled him up to sit behind her on its back, and he clung tightly to her waist, and he still didn't know if he was good or bad—

But he could hold on to her while the world raced by beneath them, and— she would help them find the answers, whatever they were.


	26. Softly

**Softly**

 _There's pretty much no reason for the party to return to the manor in Sedona at this time but I always go back to it when I play to see all the conversations and anyway they all need a break honestly so these next few oneshots are in Sedona, so there. They can be stocking up on supplies or something._

 _Also there is no furniture store in Sedona, but there SHOULD be._

 _Lastly, Dameon mentions something about being betrayed by the Sun God during one of the first cutscenes, and I made a slight reference to that. So when you come to that part, now you'll know what's going on._

* * *

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day alone, he found himself slowing his steps as they approached the pet shop. Before he knew it he was staring in the window, looking for the cream-colored kitten with the light pink nose and bright amber eyes. He found her in the far corner, and she tilted her tiny head and flicked her tail at him. He almost went inside— then he frowned to himself, and hurried to catch up with everyone else. He tried to ignore Rhen's questioning glance, and reminded himself that their manor was already quite full of animals.

Te'ijal's bat had come first. She'd named it Serpent Spawn, which Dameon thought was funny. Rhen didn't get it until Galahad had begun hurling his usual insults at the vampress— and the bat hurled itself at _him_. Then the sword singer had laughed until a terrible case of hiccups prevented her. She hiccuped the way she did everything— wholeheartedly, unabashedly, unpretentiously. Her back straightened and her shoulders went up and— _hic_ — she slumped back down.

"Da— _hic_ — meon," she had whined. "Do some— _hic_ — thing."

He was already rubbing her back, and he hadn't been sure what else he _could_ do. For the millionth time, he mentally went through each of the spells he knew, searching for one, _just one_ , that might soothe hiccups. "I could try Silence," he had said, smiling, leaning down to speak softly into her cute little ear.

She'd laughed again and opened her mouth to say something probably funnier, but another hiccup cut off whatever joke she was going to make. He chuckled anyway, and then, without thinking, kissed her cheek because it was pink. _Hic_.

Pirate John's parrot had been next. He had named it Northerner, apparently hoping for a repeat of the bat attack, but on Elini instead of Te'ijal. Rhen had given Dameon a significant look which he failed utterly to comprehend, until he happened to be in the same room as the pirate when Elini walked in.

"Pirate John," the demon summoner had said, tilting her head at him, "are you not going to ask me for a kiss?"

John had opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a loud squawk.

"Kiss! Kiss!" the parrot had chanted.

"Well I—" the pirate had started, then shook his head angrily. "You are—"

"Beeeauty! Squawk!"

"I— yes, but—"

"Kiss! Kiss!"

Elini had smiled. "Very well, Northerner." And Pirate John was kissed.

Rhen had been watching from the doorway, and now entered and gave Dameon another significant look which, this time, he entirely understood. Or he had thought he did, until she crossed the room and said softly to him, her breath like a butterfly on his ear, "Maybe if you make dinner, I will give _you_ a kiss."

And then he had turned red and become so flustered that he found no response was possible, so he opted to hide in the kitchen and chop up some onions, which proved to be a much less emotional experience than being near Rhen ever was.

Galahad had bought a dog next, "for hunting," but the dog much preferred to be wagging its tail and slobbering all over everyone. Lars claimed to find it disgusting, and could always be heard to shout "No!" very angrily whenever the dog approached him. But still, the dog could always be found under _his_ seat at dinner, and it was always in the same room as him, and it soon responded to being called No so well that Dameon couldn't remember the name Galahad had given it, or if he even _had_ named it.

What he could recall, very well, was when No chewed up everyone's boots, and all the furniture in the drawing room, and Lars's cloak. This incident was, in fact, the reason the party was running all over Sedona that day. A cat, Dameon thought to himself, would not have behaved that way. A cat might have clawed at the furniture, but it at least wouldn't have _slobbered_ all over it—

"What are you thinking, Dameon?"

He turned, startled, and met Rhen's deep violet eyes.

"I was thinking—" he struggled to compose himself, to focus. "It was only— it was not anything important."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he felt the color rising in his face, and then, blessedly, she turned back to the chair she had been examining. "I want a pet."

"Another?" He thought immediately and hopefully of the kitten, but said nothing more.

"Yes," she said with a determined little nod. "I want the tiger from Veldt." Before he could begin to be disappointed, Rhen let out a charming little sigh. "She is so graceful, and fierce..."

All his self-control could not prevent the smile that formed at this. "Like you, Rhen."

And he was glad that he said it, because now her cheeks were pink and she was smiling, too. "I want to name her Spots."

"You can't do that!" Mad Marge interrupted violently, throwing down the chair she had been looking at (Dameon supposed they were buying that one now). "Tigers are striped!"

But Rhen already knew this, and thought it was funny. Anyway, the bar maid was a fool to think she could dissuade Rhen from anything once she had resolved on it; the tiger was in their manor within the week.

So, by the way, was the chair Marge had thrown, and he found it rather abruptly one early morning while attempting to pace the house (a habit he'd formed at the Sun Temple and couldn't break, even here, even now). If he hadn't been so lost in his own head, if he hadn't been remembering the quiet tenderness of Rhen's voice when she asked him to forgive his mother, her insistent arguments, the soft, trusting certainty in her violet eyes when she told him he had a good heart, if he had been thinking of anything else instead, he might have seen the chair before he tripped over it.

But he wasn't, and he didn't, so he and the chair and the chair's occupant all ended up inelegantly piled on the floor.

"Good morning," grumbled a female voice in such a tone as to suggest it wasn't.

"Sorry, Rhen," he said, struggling to his feet and taking her hand to help her up. "I... did not see you."

"That's okay. I guess I shouldn't have put the chair right in the hallway," she said, and her were cheeks a soft pink. She hadn't let go of his hand yet. "Why are you up so early, anyway?"

He shrugged and tried to pretend he hadn't been thinking of her— their hands were still together and he realized he was holding his breath. "I am always up early," he said. Then, "Why were you in the chair?"

He cursed himself for asking because now she took her hand out of his to put the chair back on its legs. Then she tucked her unbraided hair behind her ears, and looked at her feet, and finally said, embarrassed, "Er... Spots pushed me off the bed."

He really, truly tried to stop himself, but she was so enchanting and mortified, he had to laugh.

"Urgh," she protested, hiding her now _very_ pink face in his chest.

"At least now you are awake to watch the sunrise," he said, wrapping his arms around her happily.

"I guess," she mumbled into his robes.

"Come. We can watch it by the sea. It will be beautiful." He let go of her and slowly took her hand in his again. She let him, and they made their way out into the cool morning air and down to the southern beach.

The sky was a wistful blue, dark and pale at once. A few stubborn stars, like feeble fairy lights, were strewn across it. Shopkeepers were wearily setting up their stores, making slight noises like the ghosts of day's bustle. The most prominent sound was that of the sea, pushing and pulling, advancing and retreating, over and over—

"Let's stand in the waves," Rhen whispered excitedly. So they took off their shoes and let the water run over their feet. Dameon thought it tickled, but Rhen's face was so happy and peaceful, he said nothing.

A few seabirds flew around them, sometimes coming to rest on the water, sometimes diving into it, making joyful splashes that sounded somehow like Rhen's laugh. The air still held the faint chill of night, and a playful breeze blew Rhen's loose hair about. To the east, a rosy glow was rising from the sea, cradled by a soft purple shadow, delicate and powerful, like—

He glanced at her, and he felt his face turn the color of the glow. The timid lights reflected in her eyes like tiny pieces of sunshine, and it made him think the sun might be beautiful again. _She_ could make the sun beautiful again. If he ever lost her— _no, no, no_ —

Suddenly the rosy glow brightened into a glorious white light, strong and tender, covering everything— or it seemed to be everything, and his heart was beating faster and his breath was caught in his throat— but it was only to the east. And slowly, softly, the sun made its way into the world. And it wasn't cold anymore.

"It is beautiful," Rhen said breathlessly.

But the sunrise wasn't the reason his chest ached, and he said, hoarsely, "It is nothing compared to you."

She blushed and looked down.

"Rhen... I've been thinking about what you told me, about my... mother." It was still hard to say the word.

Her hand on his shoulder kept him steady. "What did you decide?"

"I... don't know. I think... it might be possible to forgive her... someday."

She smiled softly and he was all right. "Come on. Let's get back home before our companions wreck the house."

So they did, and on the way back she saw him looking in the pet shop window again, and she bought the cat.

"Rhen—"

"Don't try to protest! Here, hold her so I can lean on you." She yawned and Dameon fumbled with the mewling little kitten that was now in his hands, grateful and amazed and speechless. "I'm so tired," Rhen said. Her arm was wrapped around his and her head was on his shoulder. Then, faintly, "What are you going to name her?"

When he could speak again, he answered, "Softly," and Rhen smiled just like that.


	27. Ridiculous

**Ridiculous**

 _They are just children, okay, and sometimes they should be allowed to act childish. So here is a ridiculous piece where they are. Also, I think when two people love each other, in any capacity, they both have to humble themselves over silly things, and apologize, and forgive once in a while. This can be hard, and that is exactly why love is so beautiful. And ridiculous. Also, I think only Dameon and maaaaybe Te'ijal would like reading, and some of the others depending on the book, but Rhen most definitely hates it._

* * *

Rhen was sitting on the couch beside Dameon while he read one of his boring books. Softly, the cat, was curled up in his lap, apparently content to sit and do nothing for ten, twenty, fifty-five _million_ minutes.

Rhen did not feel the same. She wanted to _do something_. Normally while Dameon was reading, she was dueling with Galahad in the practice yard, or wrestling her tiger Spots, or eating. But Galahad was busy running around the dining room table with Te'ijal. Spots was napping with No in the hallway. And Rhen couldn't eat, because the kitchen was empty, because Dameon was supposed to go shopping with her today, but he hadn't yet because apparently his book was too interesting to put down, and he had read "one more chapter" twice already, and _she was going crazy._

And that is why, after trying to be patient for a much shorter amount of time than she would like disclosed here, she reached out to poke him in the ribs.

Now, in the past he had always stiffened when she touched him, sometimes even moved away. At first she had thought he just didn't like her in his space, but she had come to understand that he just wasn't really used to that kind of stuff. His way of expressing affection was all slowness and solemnity. So she tried to be sensitive and patient with him, and gradually he had seemed to grow comfortable with her and with the normal, ridiculous, impulsive way emotions were supposed to be expressed.

But when she poked him, he yelled and jumped at least three feet, sending Softly darting out of the room. He shoved the book between himself and Rhen, looking at her with wide, shocked eyes like she'd somehow deeply and absolutely betrayed him. " _What are you doing?_ "

"Calm down, Dameon," she said, bewildered at such an undignified response from him. "I was only teasing."

He blinked, and slowly settled back down into the seat, letting the book fall down into his lap while a pink blush crept up his ears. "You just startled me," he mumbled, unconvincingly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he shifted uncomfortably, quickly picking up his book again and staring hard at it.

But she knew that he wasn't reading it anymore, because it was upside down. This was very strange behavior, considering how entranced he had previously seemed, and she was overwhelmed with curiosity. She could think of only one explanation for his reaction. And there was only one way to know for sure.

She had to poke him again.

She did it quickly, stealthily, so that he had no chance to move away. He yelped, leaping off the couch and spinning around to face her, holding the book in front of him like a shield.

"That isn't funny, Rhen!"

But clearly it was, because her eyes were wet from how hard she was laughing. "Dameon!" she cackled gleefully, jumping to her feet and stepping towards him. "You're ticklish!"

"I am not!" he protested, but he was backing away from her and blushing furiously.

"Yes, Dameon, you are!" she said, taking hold of the book and tossing it aside before he could object, tickling his stomach before he could move to defend himself.

"No!" he squealed, doubling over and trying to push her away, to no avail. "Stop, stop!" he cried between wild peals of laughter. "Please! No!"

She had never heard him laugh like this, with such wild, helpless abandon, and the sound made her laugh, and the way his eyes scrunched up made her smile.

"Please st-t-o-p!" he was begging, but Rhen knew how to be merciless. "I'll— I'll— tickle— you!" he threatened, now reaching for her stomach.

"Ha! I am not ticklish!" she crowed, and continued her ruthless onslaught.

"N-o-o—" he gasped, stumbling backwards into the kitchen in a futile attempt to escape her.

"Dameon," she said, stopping her tickling abruptly, "watch out for—"

Galahad yelled something unintelligible and dodged around them, and then Te'ijal jumped over them and flipped mid-air, landing lightly on her feet, and Dameon was looking sideways at her and taking a step away—

"Get back here!" Rhen said, ducking under Serpent Spawn to chase Dameon out of the dining room and into the hall. She saw Elini staring after them, and she wondered briefly if she ought to behave as she was, and then she was past her and past wondering, and then, she caught him because Mad Marge was exiting the kitchen while he was trying to turn into it—

"No— no— pl-e-e-a-se," he howled, sinking to the floor and curling up, trying to shield himself from her— but she just kneeled beside him and tickled his neck.

"You'll have to try harder than that, Dameon," she chuckled while he squirmed until she could tickle his back and then his stomach again.

"P-l-ea-se!" he laughed. "What do you— want? What— do you- w-a-n-t?"

"Take me shopping!" she said, tickling the foot that was kicking at her.

"Okay! Oka-a-y!" he gasped. "Stop! Stop!"

But she didn't, even though Lars was walking by and rolling his eyes at them, muttering, "You two are so weird."

Dameon laughed harder, helplessly trying to bat her hands away. "St-o-o-o-p! — Rhen! — I said o-o-kay!"

"But I like tickling you," she said, grinning and tickling under his chin.

"N-o-o! Stop! Stop!" he suddenly shoved himself off the floor and onto his feet, and she sat back dazed for a moment trying to comprehend what had just happened while he ran down the hall and into the library.

"Dameon, come back!" she called, scrambling to her feet, but he was closing the door and she could already hear the lock clicking.

She knocked. "Dameon, let me in!"

"No!"

"Okay, I'll stop tickling you!" she promised, almost meaning it.

He didn't answer.

"Dameon?"

Again, silence. She frowned.

"Dameon, what's the matter?"

She could almost feel his sullenness through the door.

"Come on, Dameon, don't be silly. I was only teasing."

He was still quiet and she considered getting Pirate John to pick-lock the door. But then she remembered that their pick lock didn't work on doors. Anyway, Dameon was probably reading, and he wouldn't like having her burst in on him. Well, fine, then she would give him something to read.

"Lars!" she called, turning back towards the dining room where she could hear the sorcerer arguing with Galahad over the existence of magic. "Can I borrow some paper and a quill?"

"What?" Lars said, in a tone that indicated more annoyance than curiosity.

Rhen poked her head in the dining room and said in her most stubborn voice, "I want to write a note."

Lars shrugged. "Paper is in the top drawer of my writing desk and the quill is on top."

"Great, thank you!" Rhen said, turning to run back down the hall.

She heard Lars yell "Don't spill any ink!" after her, and then she was getting the stuff (and she did not even almost spill the ink, thank you!)

 _Dear Dameon,_ she wrote. _Please put down your book and read this note. I want to go shopping so I can eat. I am very hungry._ She frowned. That wasn't quite true. _Actually I am just bored,_ she corrected, _but I still want to shop with you. I promise not to tickle you anymore. Please do not be mad. I was only teasing._

She signed her name, and slipped the note under the library door. She heard a heavy sigh, and the rustle of the paper being picked up. Then it was quiet, long enough for Rhen to wonder if she'd written something insensitive. And then there were footsteps moving away from the door, and more rustling, and the footsteps came back.

But the door didn't open; instead the paper poked out from underneath it. "What?" Rhen said, surprised. She took the paper and was about to shove it under the door again, but she noticed that there was more writing on it than before.

 _Dear Rhen,_ it said, in neat, looped letters. _I did not think it was funny. I do not like being tickled. I am not mad but I do not want to talk to you right now._ And then he had signed his name.

Rhen frowned, and wrote quickly, _But I want to talk to you_ , then shoved the note under the door again.

She heard Dameon mumble something in his low, serious voice, and the note came back. _Do not tickle me._

She almost laughed, because he was being silly. But... when _she_ got upset over silly things, he always soothed her and helped her. So she swallowed hard to get her pride down her throat, and wrote, _Okay, I'm sorry._

And she sent the note under the door again.

She waited forever for it to come back. He probably thought she was ridiculous. Well, she _was_ a little ridiculous. But she didn't like for him to think so—

The door opened and he was looking down at her with his stupid dark eyes that made her bones turn into jelly.

"I'm— I— " he looked at the ground. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

She nodded, and tried to reach for his hand but she was too nervous. "That's okay," she said. "Er— do you forgive me?"

He looked at her again and smiled. "Of course." Then he pulled her into a hug, so she knew everything was all right again. She pressed her face into his robes, carefully. "Do you want to go shopping now?" he mumbled into her hair.

And his breath on her ear... _tickled._


	28. Cough!

**_Cough_**

 _So, I know Dameon can heal a lot of things and maybe the common cold should be on that list. But... what if it wasn't? And if it wasn't, what if Rhen caught a cold? And what if I wrote a sickeningly fluffy piece about it and threw in lots of horrible teases and wonderfully unrealistic misfortunes that *somehow* turned out fortunate for my shipping purposes?_ _What if?_

 _(Also known as, I can in fact still write pure fluff xD But maybe that's not a surprise because it is RhenxDameon, soo…)_

 _Some non-important details that might confuse you if I don't mention them: Rhen's Pa (Tailor) is a shoemaker, and the Sedona manor has a dining room and a kitchen, and said kitchen, for whatever reason, also has chairs and tables in it._

* * *

She was trying her best to save the world, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that her best was decidedly lacking. For one, she really had intended to leave Sedona by now, but there had been one thing after another, and now—

 _Cough—_

Now she was—

 _Cough—_

Sick—

 _Cough—_

"Rhen, are you all right in there?" Dameon's voice sounded muffled through the heavy oak door. Or maybe it sounded muffled because her head was all clogged up.

"I'm fine!" she managed through her dry throat.

 _Cough!_

"Are you— sure?"

She choked down the cough that was trying to escape. "Yeah," she squeaked. "I'm _fine_."

"Oh— okay. Well— um— breakfast is ready."

"Okay," she said. "Thank you." And then she grumbled to herself about having to get up at all— and why of all times did she have to catch a cold _now?_ Shouldn't fate grant the chosen one some kind of immunity to stuff like this? Couldn't it just wait until _after_ all this was over?

But _no_ , apparently not. Whatever. She was just going to have to suck it up. She pushed the blankets off herself and sat up groggily, and immediately decided it was too dang cold in this house and she was taking her blanket with her, and that was that.

She looked around the room for her boots, but she couldn't find them. She was too tired and sick for this. What was the point of shoes, anyway? She felt guilty for thinking it; shoes were her Pa's living, after all. But— blast it! They weren't worth all this trouble. Her head was spinning. She was not going to bother with shoes, not today. She exited the room, barefoot, and slammed the door behind her.

It can be difficult to walk down a hall while wrapped up in a large quilt that drags on the ground, especially when said hall is the designated gathering place for a multitude of pets and that multitude includes a tiger and a dog ( _had No taken her shoes?_ ) and two flappy flying things and also a very cute but very finicky cat. But Rhen was nothing if not perseverant—

Okay, all _right_ , stubborn, she was nothing if not _stubborn_. But anyway she made it through the hall to the kitchen, where Lars, Elini, and Galahad had tried to start an assembly line for piling food on their plates, and where Pirate John and Mad Marge were ignoring all such attempts at imposing order and were stuffing their faces without discretion.

Briefly she considered joining the latter group, but her nose was stuffy and her lungs were sore and anyway the floor was cold. She wanted to sit down, and that meant she'd need a plate. So to the back of the assembly line she went.

"Good morning, sword singer," Elini said, noticing her first. "I take it you are a bit tired today?"

Rhen grunted and grabbed a plate.

"M'lady," Galahad began scoldingly, "it is not decent to carry your bedding around like that!"

"Mmph," Rhen argued articulately, then forked a couple pancakes onto her plate. Actually she forked most of the remaining pancakes onto her plate. Because she _wanted to_.

"Oh, is that Rhen?" Lars said. "I thought Mad Marge must have a sister I hadn't met yet or something."

"Whatever," Rhen yawned. And then she coughed, and dumped a lake of blueberry syrup onto her pancakes.

She dodged around Pirate John and Mad Marge— honestly Mad Marge was terrifying and Rhen didn't want to be anywhere near her, ever— and she went to the dining room to sit down.

Or she tried to.

Instead she nearly ran into Dameon, who was exiting the dining room with his dirty dishes, and she only barely kept her plate of pancakes from spilling all over the both of them.

"Er— hi, Dameon," she said with perfect grace and poise and all that (by which is meant, very little of either).

"Good morning, Rhen," he said, and backtracked to pull out a chair for her—

Except then they were both shoved inelegantly out of the way by a very agitated Galahad, who apparently intended to start his running around the dining room table early today on account of Te'ijal being right behind him— and Dameon's dishes shattered all over the floor, and Rhen's beautiful pancakes mixed in with all the shards of glass, and in spite of all her best intentions her blueberry syrup ended up all over the front of Dameon's robes. She stammered an apology and tried to wipe off the syrup with her hand that wasn't holding a plate, which proved completely ineffective and actually rather counterproductive and also her blanket had slipped off her shoulders and she was cold—

"That's all right," he said, and bent down to pick up her blanket. He wrapped it around her again, and pulled her out of the way of Te'ijal and Galahad who were still running and shouting— and then he took her free hand and she was acutely aware of how sticky her palm was and she felt very foolish and clumsy, and he kissed her fingers and she felt even more stupid, and— now his lips probably tasted like blueberry syrup.

This cold was making her crazy.

He was frowning down at her, and pressing her hand between both of his, and then he put the back of his hand to her forehead, and drew his eyebrows together.

"Rhen," he chided, "you're running a fever."

She blushed guiltily. "It's just a stupid cold."

"You need rest," he said, looking very serious and resolute and also unduly— well, _cute_ , and you know, maybe he was right because she really ought to have a better hold on herself.

But she tried huffing indignantly anyway. Unfortunately it came out as more of a cough, and his face did not change. Not even a little.

"It won't do anyone any good if you exhaust yourself," he said firmly.

So she tried glaring.

 _That_ was a stupid idea because he never could withstand her glares for very long, and now he looked flustered and his lips were parted and—

If nothing else, she had to get ahold of herself so that she didn't get him sick, too.

She sighed. "Fine! _Fine!_ I'll rest. _After_ I get more breakfast." She turned on her heel to do that, but he caught her shoulder and she whirled back around to face him— she had miscalculated and there was his face, right in front of her and very close and also very pink—

"Don't— don't step on the glass—" he stammered, and then he was interrupted—

"DARK CREATURE! WHEN WILL YOU CEASE TORMENTING ME?!" Galahad sped past them again, with Serpent Spawn close behind him, and the fragments of Dameon's plate crunched beneath his heavy boots—

"You are so appetizing when you flirt, lambchop!" Te'ijal answered, neatly leaping over the now-even-more-scattered glass and continuing her chase.

Rhen stared down at the glittering shards— there was no way she could leap over them like Te'ijal, especially not in her blanket. "Of _all_ the days to not wear my stupid boots," she muttered angrily, and hit her forehead against the nearest thing— which was Dameon's chest. Which still had blueberry syrup all over it. And now there was syrup all over her forehead. _Great._ She pouted. "How am I supposed to get out of here?"

Dameon looked thoughtful, and then he looked embarrassed, and he had to clear his throat a couple times before he could say, "Well— I could— I could carry you out."

She almost laughed. _Dameon_ , carrying her, with syrup all over his robes and her wrapped up in her stupid blanket with her toes poking out the ends— and his arms wrapped around her and his chin resting on her hair and—

"Can you even lift me?"

He blushed. "I— you— I've carried you before."

" _What?_ No, you haven't!" That was impossible, she would remember that.

"After battles, when you pass out— I— I have to get you somewhere safe _somehow!_ I— it isn't— um— it's just—" he stopped himself and seemed to catch his breath and looked down. "I'm sorry, I am being very foolish. I just— would you like me to carry you?"

 _Well_. She would like that very much, but for all the wrong reasons.

"Yes, please."

Too late, it was out of her mouth.

He _could_ lift her— she squeaked when her feet left the floor, and his robes were even more sticky than she had thought, and she knew she looked completely ridiculous cocooned in her quilt, with her empty plate balanced precariously in her lap and syrup smeared all over her and her face all pink— because of the cold, of course, and— but—

He was _so soft and warm_. She snuggled into his sticky chest and felt very safe and contented and she didn't even care much when Mad Marge sneered at them as she passed, and Lars shook his head and Elini smirked and Pirate John winked—

Actually that last one made her a little uncomfortable and she glared at him over Dameon's shoulder. And then Dameon turned the corner into the kitchen, which was now pretty much empty except for a considerable mess caused by the eating habits of a certain bar maid. Rhen moved to slide to the floor but instead Dameon set her neatly in a chair. And then— he was smiling at her and leaning down and she didn't know if she was terrified or elated—

But he only kissed her forehead. Then he laughed, and she noticed that he definitely had syrup on his mouth now.

"You are very sticky today," he told her. Then he looked at his robes. " _I'm_ very sticky today!"

She started to laugh, but then she was coughing again and—

He rubbed her back, carefully, until her chest relaxed and the coughing stopped, and he mumbled, "I'm sorry Rhen, I— I wish I could do more."

"Don't be silly," she said hoarsely, absently rubbing at the syrup on her forehead with the hand that was less sticky.

"Here, let me—" he said, and before she could quite figure out what he meant he had turned around and was pumping water onto a dishtowel, and then he was turning _back_ around and scrubbing her forehead with it, and then her hands, and she felt clean and also red. Definitely red.

She tried to think of something normal to say but all she could think of was syrup, and instead she said, "Don't forget you," and she reached out to poke his mouth—

And he was red, too, and _finally_ , _finally_ he scrubbed the syrup off his lips, and now she could stop thinking about it.

Actually not really. Actually not at all.

He had turned around again, taking her plate this time, and he was putting the last two pancakes on it— _only two—_ and pouring the rest of the syrup on them, and then he slid the plate in front of her, and—

"I guess I should go change. And—" his eyes swept over her, "and I'll get you another blanket. That one's all— sticky—"

It was, but only on the outside, and it was probably going to get stickier when she ate these pancakes—

But he was gone before she could say any of that.

The pancakes had gotten cold by now. But they were still delicious.

She wanted more.

She glared at the empty counters— well, they were empty besides the mess. What she _should_ do was help clean. It wasn't like Mad Marge was going to come back in and do it. And Te'ijal and Galahad were still running around the dining room table and they weren't likely to stop soon (she could hear their shouting, and Galahad's boots crunching the broken glass). Pirate John might be back to help straighten things up later, before lunch, and if he came Elini would come. And _maybe_ Lars would help, if he was bored enough.

He probably wouldn't be.

She growled, and pushed her chair away from the little table. She didn't know why there were extra tables in the kitchen. For storage, maybe? For servants to eat their meals on? Who knew!

She choked back a cough and stood up. The floor was still _freezing_. She trudged towards the counters, her blanket dragging behind her—

Actually it was catching on something. She whirled around to un-catch it from whatever fiendish piece of furniture was impeding her progress—

It was just Softly, the cat, chasing after the end of the blanket like she might chase a string, or like she sometimes chased Dameon's robes.

" _Softly!_ " Rhen protested. "My blanket is not a toy!"

" _Meorw!_ "

Rhen gathered her blanket up around her, the same way she had to gather her skirts when she wore those poofy dresses which for whatever reason were so fashionable here in Sedona— but Softly just jumped after the blanket, purring. _Purring!_

"I'm trying to work, Softly!"

" _Meow!_ "

She huffed angrily, but— the cat kept chasing her! "Can't you go pick on No or something?"

" _Meow."_

Rhen tried hiding behind a chair, and then climbing up on the chair— but Softly was _still_ following her! She put her foot up on the table—

"Rhen, what are you doing?"

Dameon tried to rush into the room, but instead he smacked his head against the doorframe and looked very disoriented and unbalanced and like he was strongly considering falling over—

She jumped off the table, letting her quilt fall behind her (to Softly's great delight)— and she slipped under his arm. He was holding a clean blanket so this was no small feat, especially when her head was all cloggy.

"I've got you," she said, and then— she coughed violently into his chest. Some hero she was.

But he just said, "Thank you," and he rubbed her back again and pulled the new blanket around her— it was very warm, and soft— and Softly promptly left off playing with the sticky blanket and slinked over to bat at the new one.

 _Cough_.

"You'd better sit back down," he said, but he was still leaning on her dizzily and she scoffed.

" _You'd_ better sit down!"

 _Cough! Cough!_

" _Okay!_ " she relented. " _I'd_ better sit down! But Dameon," she pouted, "Softly won't leave me alone!"

He looked down at the cat, who was now making a great show of trying to climb Rhen's blanket like a curtain— not that she was allowed to climb curtains, but she _did_ , either way.

Dameon laughed, and bent down to pick up Softy. And Rhen felt a little betrayed, which was ridiculous, but—

"She just wants to play," he told her.

Rhen glared at the cat. The cat _purred_ back, and rolled over in Dameon's arms to bat her tiny paws at Rhen.

 _No._ Rhen was not going to be fooled by this show, this manipulation dressed as charm.

"Look at her!" Dameon cooed. He obviously _was_ fooled by this show.

Rhen _hmphed._ Just because she wasn't cute like the cat!

She didn't want to look at Softly. She wanted to eat more, and to take a long nap in the sun and wake up feeling warm and _not_ sick—

"She wants you to hold her, Rhen," Dameon said, and plopped the cat into her arms.

Rhen went rigid. She _did not want to hold the cat_ —

Softly's tail brushed against her face.

"Hey!" Rhen protested.

" _Meorrw!"_

Softly batted at a loose lock of Rhen's hair, and curled against her chest and purred and was very— well, soft. And warm. Which Rhen appreciated. And— she didn't really like glaring that much, anyway, so instead she smiled and looked up at Dameon. "I guess she is pretty sweet."

Dameon smiled and looked at least as cute as the cat, and then he said, "Thank you for getting her, Rhen. It— was very thoughtful of you."

Rhen blushed, and then he leaned down to kiss her cheek and she felt like her face was going to burn off— and him cleaning the syrup off his mouth had definitely not helped even a little, and she really, really needed to sit down now.

 _Cough! Cough!_

Softly jumped out of her arms and she coughed harder and harder. " _Dameon—_ "

He was already picking her up again, "It's okay, Rhen. You just need rest."

"It— hurts—" she coughed, huddling into the blanket, hiding her face in his chest. She knew she was being a baby. It was just a cold. But her throat was sore and her lungs were tired and—

"I know, Rhen," he was saying gently. "I'm sorry." And he really did look sorry, which made her feel a bit better even though everything still ached.

"Can you— can you make me some lemon water?"

"Lemon water?" He was putting her back in the chair, and sitting beside her.

"Lemon— _cough_ — and water, and honey. Ma used to make it for me when I was sick."

"Lemon water," he repeated quietly to himself. "I can try that."

They had a huge crate of lemons— Mad Marge had insisted on it, yelling something about _scurvy_ and _landlubbers_ and other strange words of that sort. Rhen had objected to it at the time, seeing as someone was going to have to _carry_ the crate, but she was glad to have it now.

Dameon found a jug, and he started squeezing some of the lemons into it. But he obviously had no idea what he was doing, and he kept dropping the lemons or getting the juice all over his hands instead of in the container. Rhen thought it was very cute and she couldn't help giggling at him, which made him smile and she liked that, too.

"I'm going to be all sticky again," he said, trying to squeeze another lemon. He was starting to get it, sort of—

And then it slipped out of his hands and onto the table. He grinned at her sheepishly. "Oops."

She laughed and picked up the lemon to hand it back to him.

But then her stomach growled.

And she got an idea that was either brilliant, or stupid.

She licked the lemon.

It tasted _horrible_ , sour and— _sour_ , just unforgivingly sour—

But the juice felt _so nice_ going down her throat. So she licked it again.

Dameon stared at her. "Is that— good?"

"It's _wonderful_ ," Rhen said, now peeling the lemon to get a wedge.

He watched her eat it, and then, hesitantly, peeled out a wedge of the lemon he was squeezing. He slowly brought it up to his mouth, and bit down—

And his face puckered, which was an entirely new expression for him, and Rhen laughed and leaned towards him without thinking about it—

 _Cough! Cough!_

She was going to lose a lung this way—

 _Cough!_

"Rhen—" He stood quickly, and he was rubbing her back, and checking her temperature— "You really should be in bed."

Her chest was too sore to argue. She held out her arms and he picked her up, carefully, like she was made of flower petals, but she didn't mind today because she felt fragile. She felt like she might come apart starting at her lungs— and this was the third time that he was carrying her, and she thought maybe she'd have to start making him carry her everywhere.

Maybe not. Maybe she'd better make these decisions when she didn't have a fever. She ought to at _least_ wait until she wasn't cocooned in a blanket like a very large and helpless caterpillar.

When he got to her room he had to fumble with the doorknob— she didn't know why she felt the need to slam her door this morning. But he got it open, and he carried her inside and laid her gently on her bed, and kneeled beside her to help arrange her blankets. And she was coughing again—

"The lemon water—" she remembered, and tried to sit up—

"I'll bring you a glass," he promised, brushing her bangs out of her face.

"But I'm— still hungry, too—"

"I'll bring you food." He didn't even look annoyed, that was the strange part. "Please, Rhen. Rest. You can go back to saving the world tomorrow."

"I don't know— if I can." So far it wasn't working out so well.

" _I_ do." His voice was soft but his gaze was firm— he really believed she could, even after all the disasters she'd been a part of. Like today, today definitely counted as a disaster. But—

It was hard to doubt him, when he looked like that. And he was always beside her, helping her through all her messes, even when all he could do was rub her back and try to squeeze the juice out of a bunch of stupid lemons.

She settled back into her pillows. He was going to take care of her, her best didn't have to be enough for today.

She wanted to say _thank you_ , for all of that, but she didn't know where to start and she didn't have the patience, so she held out her arms towards him and muttered, "Come here."

He did, very hesitantly, and she hugged him and kissed his cheek.

And if he could have just kept his mouth in a straight line after that, she might have been able to forget about it and sleep, but instead she thought of the little _o_ his lips made for the rest of the day.


	29. Dark Places

**Dark Places**

 _Thais is abandoned and ruined and Rhen has nothing in common with the people there. Nothing at all._

* * *

Gray brick. That was what her future was made out of. It loomed above her, hard and cold and impassable. Unalterable. She hated it. She wanted to run from it.

Instead she turned to her companions, and told them to split up and look for an inn. They were going to sleep here, in this gray city. They had no choice. The blasted lands were dangerous. The rogues and red wolves would only get more vicious as night fell.

So she walked North on the gray brick streets, and under gray brick arches, and between towering walls of _gray, gray, gray._ It swallowed her whole. She didn't want this. She tried to tell herself that she didn't belong here, that her father was a shoemaker, and her mother was a seamstress—

 _Daddy, I have a serious question to ask you. Am I your real daughter?_

It had seemed an absurd question. This was the man who had carried her on his shoulders through her whole childhood. He had made her every pair of shoes she'd ever worn, until— until she'd gone away. Until now. Now her shoes were made of dragon scales and they glimmered faintly in what little sickly light could filter through the thick clouds hanging in the sky.

It felt like it had always been overcast here, and yet Rhen knew it would never really rain, just like Pa had never _really_ answered her question.

 _Before you were born, I served as a general to the King and Queen of Thais._

 _A royal general_. Not a shoemaker, then. She was not a shoemaker's daughter. So who was she?

 _The king and queen of Thais had a daughter, the child who would defeat the demon._

 _The child._ That's what Talia had called her, too. And the Empress of the Eastern Isle, and the Oracle. _The child_ — she _wasn't_ a child! She was too old to be bossed around. And yet—

And yet here she was, doing exactly what they had all told her to do. Or _almost_ exactly what they had all told her to do—

Ma had told her she was a princess, she should be happy. Pa had told her to remember Thais, that it was her duty.

She didn't want to be a princess. She didn't want Alicia's ring— her _mother's_ ring. She didn't want her parents country.

 _Parents_. Devin and Alicia were _not_ her parents. Her father was a shoemaker and her mother was a seamstress— _a shoemaker and a seamstress_ , she tried to make it seem true again, but the weight of the sword on her back said otherwise.

In other cities, in Clearwater especially, people stared at her swords, and her shoulder pads and heavy boots and— everything. But in Thais, no one stared. She fit right in. Nearly everyone here wore their armor, riddled with the damage of hundreds of battles, polished so that it shined even under the overcast sky.

And everyone here walked slowly, with their eyes down, carrying weights in their hearts not less demoralizing than the burdens Rhen had carried as a slave. Everyone in Thais would rather be somewhere else.

Rhen wanted to be home, with her parents. _Her_ parents, the shoemaker and the seamstress. Not the strangers who had once ruled this now desolated land.

Thais used to be grand, one woman had told her. It had been the greatest city in all the kingdoms. It used to be surrounded by unexplored forests stretching for miles, and there had been cool, clear mountain streams running everywhere, and the land was dotted with farming villages instead of long, lonely stretches of burnt earth and endless gray.

Everything was so empty now. And— there weren't any inns _anywhere!_ She kicked a wall, a stupid gray brick wall, and it hurt even through her heavy boots so she scowled and kicked it again—

"Halt!" a voice shouted. She turned to see one of the guards running towards her, pulling his sword out. She reflexively reached back for her own sword and he stopped several paces away from her, weapon ready.

"Are you a citizen of Thais?" he barked, his voice echoing harshly from under his heavy helmet.

"I— no, I am a traveler—"

He half-raised his sword and she held her own in front of her defensively. "Are you a demon?" he asked.

" _What?_ No, I am a traveler! I am just looking for an inn!"

"A _traveler!_ " he scoffed. "We have not seen outlanders for nearly seventeen years. Prove to me you are not a demon in disguise!"

"A _demon in disguise?_ " This was ridiculous, she didn't need to be arguing with a paranoid guard, she just wanted to rest, somewhere far away from here—

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I— I—" She was not a shoemakers daughter, not a simple peasant _— who was she?_ — "I—"

"Rhen?" She half-turned to see Dameon hurrying towards her— of course he would find her when she was in the middle of a standoff— "Pirate John found an inn, do you want to— want to— what— what are you doing?"

The guard turned, brandishing his weapon now at Dameon. "Who is this?"

"This is my— we are— he is the Sun Priest!" she babbled— she wanted to say— _more_ , but it all seemed too much, suddenly, and she could hardly say anything to mollify _this_ guard, he still looked at them through narrowed, distrustful eyes.

"Please," Dameon began, calmly, "we are not here to cause trouble. We are only travelers."

"Why would you travel to Thais?" the guard demanded; Rhen wondered the same thing herself, especially now— "This is a desolated city. The gods have abandoned us. We cannot protect our own citizens. What could you want here?" He raised his sword to point the tip at Dameon's throat, and Rhen's hands were white on her own weapon— "Answer me!"

Dameon only stared at him, his dark eyes wide with—

With—

Something sad and soft that wasn't fear at all, and he finally said, quietly, "We came here to help."

 _Help_. Was it really that simple?

The guard scoffed, and pushed his sword closer to Dameon— he had better— he'd better not—

But Dameon just looked at him calmly, and slowly the guard's sword fell to his side. "Move along then," he muttered, and sheathed his weapon. "You won't want to be out in the streets after dark."

With that he left— _really, it was that easy?_ — And Dameon turned to Rhen, and shuffled his feet a bit, and held out his arm for her to take. "John found an inn. Do you want to go?"

"Dameon— weren't you nervous at all?"

"What?"

"The guard—" she sheathed her sword, and took his arm— he was crazy, that was the only explanation.

He smiled down at her. "I knew you would not let him hurt me."

Well— that was true.

"Where's the inn?" she asked.

"In the southern half of the city." He gestured with his free arm, and started walking that way. "It's by a ring shop," he said, and then, with an almost conspiratorial grin, "I think Elini will approve of the location."

The gray brick seemed so much less imposing when she was not alone, and the overcast sky looked more like rain every moment.

"I don't like rings," she blurted, and then blushed. She was thinking of one very specific ring, with a dragon engraved in its gold band. And— also that small silver ring with the blue stone, the one that had gotten her into this whole mess in the first place.

"Oh," he stammered, his smile slipping. "I— I don't think they're so bad."

She looked hard at the ground. The path was gray brick, like everything else. "You can have mine, then."

"I— What?"

Now she was definitely red. "I mean— the sigma ring. I— I don't— want it."

He was quiet. She could feel his eyes on her, waiting, and finally he said, in his low, soothing way, "What do you want?"

There was a pebble on the ground, and she kicked it ahead of her. It was gray, too. "I don't know."

She kicked the pebble again and it rolled behind a barrel. The barrel, at least, was brown. But it was probably empty. "Thais is a lonely place."

He didn't answer at first. She wouldn't have heard him if he had. She was walking beside him, but she was far, far away, in a tiny mountain town, looking for a little girl she had lost a long time ago.

"Rhen?"

He called her out of her dark place so gently she didn't notice herself turning to face him— not until she was looking up into his eyes, sad and sympathetic and— this time, a little afraid.

"I— the people here— have no one to help them." He began slowly, his voice so low she had to strain to hear. "They've had to fight for themselves. They— I guess what I mean is— they have been through a lot. And you— you also— are _you_ lonely, Rhen?"

She swallowed. She wasn't sure how to answer, how to say _yes_ , how to be so terribly exposed. "I— I want to help these people. But I— I don't— know."

His eyes were soft and dark and not gray at all. "No one else will help them."

"No." She remembered her helpless days. Sometimes she thought she was still in them.

"They... are brave, to have lasted so long."

 _Brave_. What a word, for a hopeless people.

"Rhen." He had stopped walking, they were standing in a courtyard. The inn was in front of them— it really _did_ exist— and he was brushing her hair behind her ear, and tilting her chin up so that she had to look into those stupid dark eyes. "You... You have a lot to think about. And... it is okay if you feel lost. But I think... I think you will find your way. I... I..." he seemed to hesitate, and she knew what he was about to say was something he hadn't said for a long time, maybe forever, and he finished quietly, "I trust you."

Those were heavy words— what if she failed? What if she stayed lost, forever and ever—

But instead of afraid, her heart felt lighter, somehow, and she felt her lips relaxing into a small smile, maybe because— because—

After everything, she was not alone.


	30. Sharing Sorrow

**Sharing Sorrow**

 _If you are reading these in chronological order, sorry to have two angst pieces in a row, but this is important. If you are reading these in the order I'm writing, then you're not allowed to complain because the last update was fluffy. So._

 _Happens sometime soon after the party first goes to Thais. This piece means a lot to me; read gently:)_

* * *

He heard her door creak open, in one of those silent hours between midnight and dawn that was neither morning nor night, that was nothing but dark. Her boots scuffed against the stone floor of the hall, and he knew where she was going. There was only one place that kept a person awake into these hours, only one place to go when the darkness was this heavy.

The grieving never needed to be told where it was, they would find it, they were pulled to it, like moths to light— except there was no light, only stillness.

He followed her, because—

He had been there alone, so many times.

The cemetery in Thais was much bigger than the one he was familiar with. He moved carefully around the graves— there were so many, there had been so much death—

Only one would call Rhen's name. Only one would be familiar to her restless heart.

He found her kneeling in front of a headstone, her hand pressed against it, fingers tracing the letters carved on its face— he did not need to look at the name. Everything in her posture told him, she had found what called her here.

He whispered a spell to conjure a small light, and he cradled it in his hands as he approached her, slowly. He did not know what he would say to her, no one had ever said anything to him— except Rhen.

Rhen had said, " _I'm sorry_."

She glanced up at him as he approached, and squinted at the light. He cupped his hand over it, softening it, and slowed to a stop, only close enough that she could hear him.

"Rhen."

She looked back at the headstone. "Hi, Dameon."

"I— I didn't want you to be alone."

She didn't answer.

"I'm— sorry, Rhen," he said, and wished he knew anything else to say. "She— she must have been brave."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

He swallowed, and she shifted and patted the ground beside her. "Will you— sit with me?"

He did. His knees were used to the dirt of grave yards. The headstone towered above their kneeling forms and the tiny light between his hands flickered in its shadow.

There were many things carved on the stone, lineage and ranks, deeds done, dates and places—

What Rhen's fingers traced, over and over, was the name. _Alicia Pendragon_.

"She died."

Her usually light, cheerful voice cracked with bitterness. He wished it had never come to this. If he could take the ache from her soul and swallow it into his own, he would.

But the ache, he knew, was emptiness, and he'd never learned how to fill it.

"I'm sorry, Rhen."

"I— I wasn't— ready." There was a small, tremulous breath, and then— "I'm still not— ready— I— she just— left me! Alone!" Her eyes flashed and she hit the headstone with the side of her fist. "She abandoned me! _They_ abandoned me! I— I—"

She was crying, her breaths came in stifled squeaks which, he remembered, felt more like drowning than breathing, and the only thing he knew to do was sit beside her and hold up the light. He would not leave her in the dark. He had been there alone, so many times.

"I lost them," she choked. "Do you know— how that— feels?"

He remembered. It hurt to remember but he couldn't help it. "Yes," he breathed, and he cradled the light in one hand and with the other carefully reached out to press his fingertips to her shaking shoulder. "I know how that feels."

What he didn't know was how to stop feeling it.

She leaned her head against the stone and he felt her trembling under one of his palms while the light wavered in the other, and she didn't make another sound.

Words did not belong here. The silence was sacred.

He read the tombstone in the pale brightness. _Alicia Pendragon. Queen of Thais_. If only she had taken the title with her. She had been young when she died, not much older than Rhen was now.

But she had been dead for nearly as long as Rhen had been alive, over seventeen years.

The darkness seemed to creep closer to them, despite all the energy he was feeding into the light. He could not remember the world seventeen years ago, but he thought maybe it had seemed— nicer. Yet here was proof that parents had still died. Gods had betrayed their people. His father had been right— there was no justice in Aia.

And yet— it was said that Ahriman had destroyed this city. That's what _they_ told him, and he didn't know if his father would say any different.

He had learned long ago that the dead did not answer.

And still Rhen bowed her head, and all he could do was rub her shoulder and whisper this little half-comfort, this almost-accusation: "If my father— hadn't done what he did, she might still be alive."

Rhen traced Alicia's name again, her hands trembling. "That was your father's choice, Dameon. I don't blame you."

The light flickered faintly. "Perhaps you should."

"Dameon," she chided.

"I know what he chose," he reminded her, and then he tried not to breathe, not to say the next words that rose up in his throat, like bile. He hadn't dared to express them for so long, he had kept them locked in himself, piercing him, rotting him, but now they spewed out, convulsively—

"—I still love him."

And now, after so much time, the tears flowed, dropping onto the cold, unforgiving stone of a stranger's grave, and the light in his palm wavered in the darkness like his lonely soul.

Little fingers brushed against his other hand, and settled at his elbow, and Rhen was there to sit beside him in his grief.

"I'm sorry, Dameon."

 _Sorry_. Sorrow could not revive the dead, the fates were unforgiving, the gods cruel. Love always led to desolation.

And Rhen always accepted it with a firm jaw and soft eyes.

"What was he like?" she asked him quietly, leaning her tired head against his arm and looking down at the light he was trying to hold. It was fading, it was barely a glow.

He stared up at the unpitying headstone, and breathed in the cold night air, and remembered.

"He was… He used to take me exploring, when he wasn't… busy…" His throat felt dry and the words were like sand in his mouth. It was easy to remember that his father was dead, _that_ part clung to him, like his shadow. It fueled his resolve, and his anger, and—

It was hard to remember what came before. _That_ stayed twisted around his core and if he unravelled it— everything would fall apart.

He tried to swallow but there was something sharp and bitter in his throat, and Rhen wrapped her hands around his arm, and breath by breath he came undone.

"He… he taught me magic. We helped the binis, and the fairies sometimes—"

And he would have been ashamed of the way the tears streamed down Dameon's face. If he reached up to dry them the light would go out. He couldn't let go of the light.

"He kept flowers… for… my mother."

The words hung in the air and he waited for the blinding relief of rage but he only felt bruised, deep in his gut, and he cried harder and Rhen's hands tightened around his arm.

"He was strong, and… diligent." He never gave up, not on anything, he had a fierce, unrelenting soul—

"He was my hero—" Dameon choked. He was in a thousand quivering pieces, he would have scattered in the cold night wind except for Rhen's fierce grip on him—

"He was— like— you—" he said, and he bowed his head and he wept and wept.

She was sturdy and strong and the world would destroy her too, it destroyed every honest thing. And the light was dying and—

"Rhen— I can't—- keep the light— here—"

Her jaw was firm and her eyes were soft, and she reached up and brushed little fingers over his tears. "Then let the darkness come."

He trembled, and fought, and then—

She pressed her face into his robes, and the way she shivered was familiar to him, it had nothing to do with the cold wind and everything to do with the bare broken feeling in her chest— and— he could hold on to the light or her, not both, and he reached for her blindly as the night swallowed them whole.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry—" he murmured into her hair, sorrow was useless but it was all he had, and now she was crying into his shoulder, and trembling violently in his arms, and her hot breath burned her questions into his neck, _will you stay with me? —_ and he felt like a rope stretched taut, she wanted someone to keep her secured and he had frayed edges.

But he wouldn't fail this time. He would just never let go— her quivering nose tickled his collarbone, and he kissed her hair and cried into it and they clung to each other and breathed in the shadows and waited for the slow, quiet sun to return to the broken world.

And he held her close, and she held him together.


	31. Sunshine

**Sunshine**

 _Finally I am updating XD Sorry for the wait, I have no excuse except that I cannot write in chronological order for my life. So._

 _This piece happens on Mount Orion, after the party goes there to search for Priestess Oyane but before they find her. I think I have managed to outdo myself for sap once again. I even out-sapped Night Watch. And there are a lot of stupid sentimental metaphors if you look for them but I think you will be able to enjoy the story even if they go over your head. (Or, especially if they go over your head? ? ?) Anyway, also, there are jokes. And RhenxDameon so yayy!_

* * *

She could hear the rain pattering on the ground outside the cave, even with her head buried under her blanket. She did not like rain. It was cold and unrelenting, like—

It had been overcast in Thais, too. It had sprinkled on them in Mysten Far, and still they had trudged on, because— well, that's what they were _supposed_ to do.

But Rhen, for one, was tired of being responsible. For two days now they had been searching for that confounded priestess, spelunking through caves, hiking up steep rocky peaks, and— also— getting— _rained on!_

Well, okay, so she hadn't _exactly_ been getting rained on, but only because she was a rebel, and she had ignored the blasted Oracle all those months ago and let that dang Sun Priest come with her. And that dang Sun Priest could do a few cute little tricks, like, say, shielding the entire party from water.

Rhen was very grateful for this cute little trick, and she had beamed at the dang Sun Priest several times. And if she beamed once twice more than was necessary just to see him smile back— well, she already admitted to being a rebel, and she would do as she pleased.

But— as lovely as it was to be dry, there was still the mud to hike through, and it made ridiculous noises every time she pulled her boots out of it— _shooolp! shkiiip! schup!_ — and it had been funny at first but it definitely wasn't by the end of the day. Neither were the landslides, or trying to fight ravwyrn kings and fire griffins in the howling wind, and— and—

She was sick of the mud, and sick of not finding any signs of that blasted priestess, and also—

Dameon kept rolling over, and his restlessness was keeping her awake.

" _Dameon!_ " she hissed at last— it must have been midnight, at least. " _Can you please lie still for five minutes?_ "

There was a guilty silence, and then he whispered back, _"Sorry, Rhen."_

 _Sorry, Rhen_. He wasn't even trying to be eloquent. She watched him through narrowed eyes, and he stared up at the cave's ceiling, his body rigid except for the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

 _"Dameon,"_ she said after a long pause. _"Is something bothering you?"_

He looked at her with wide, dark, anxious eyes, but what he said was, _"N—o."_

She sat up on her mat and fixed him with her most serious gaze. Sleep was overrated, anyway. _"Are you sure?"_

He swallowed, and turned red, and then finally, reluctantly, he admitted, _"I— cannot sleep."_

That made two of them. _"Why not?"_

But before he could answer—

"Will both of you shut up?" Lars interrupted exasperatedly, not bothering to whisper. "No one can sleep with you two around!"

"That isn't quite true," Te'ijal said, turning towards them from where she had been keeping watch. "Listen to the pirate."

Pirate John was, in fact, snoring loudly, though Rhen definitely hadn't noticed it before.

Elini rolled over in her sleeping mat to look at John. "Hmm," she said. "I'll have to do something about _that_ before our wedding."

"I could bite him," Te'ijal offered.

"Serpent spawn!" Galahad scolded, sounding half-asleep himself. "Leave the pirate alone!"

Mad Marge shifted, and they all looked towards her in terror. "You're all crazy," she muttered, before flipping over and, if not actually sleeping, doing a very good job of pretending she was.

"For once I agree with her," Lars said, crossing his arms and glaring up at the cave ceiling.

Te'ijal chuckled. "You could all try eating mutton."

There was a confused silence wherein Rhen tried very hard to figure out this strange suggestion on her own, and then, finding herself completely at a loss, she said, "What?"

"Isn't that what you humans do to fall asleep?"

Dameon _laughed_ , and Rhen started and everyone turned to stare at him. He flushed and cleared his throat, and mumbled, "My apologies. I— I believe she meant counting sheep."

Then Rhen laughed, but no one else was laughing and she quickly choked on it— not before Dameon looked at her and beamed. Which made her feel much less stupid.

Te'ijal just shrugged. "It hardly makes a difference to me."

Nobody argued with her. Galahad rolled over. Lars pulled his blanket up over his head. Elini closed her eyes, Dameon lay motionless as stone, and Rhen—

Rhen still wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Lightning flashed outside, and the light bounced off the cave walls like the silver sword of some vengeful demon. Rhen hated storms. In Clearwater rain meant days spent inside helping her mother with chores, and praying to the goddess that there wouldn't be any landslides or sinkholes, and that the apple orchards would be all right—

Rain was the sort of thing that could change someone's life in an instant, without ever asking for permission. Rhen did not like those sorts of things.

The thunder came after that, insistent and unforgiving, and Rhen ducked under her covers and shivered. _Why_ did the rain have to be cold, too?

Te'ijal was talking to someone in a low, laughing voice. Everyone was supposed to be sleeping. Who was she talking to? Rhen shifted and peeked out from beneath her blankets, just in time to see Dameon walking out of the cave. And not bothering with a water shield.

Where did he think he was going? He was going to get caught in a rockslide, or struck by lightning, or— or—

She hated the rain.

" _Te'ijal,_ " she hissed. The vampress looked towards her and Rhen asked, " _What is Dameon doing?_ "

Te'ijal tilted her head, and her fangs glinted eerily in the strange glowing light of the midnight storm. _"He wanted to take a walk."_

 _"In this weather?"_

But Te'ijal just shrugged, amusement clear on her features even in the darkness. _"Do humans find that unusual?"_

Rhen sighed. And pulled on her boots. And went out into the stupid, detestable cold repulsive rain, too.

Because, she was crazy.

She flinched as the first icy droplets hit her bare arms, and then her face— and then she lost track, and she was soaked through to her bones and tiny streams were flowing off the ends of her hair.

And her boots— were— sticking— in— the— mud! _Again!_

"Dameon!" she called over the sound of the storm and the _Schkuup! Shhhkk!_ of the mud.

Now was not the time for pacing or thinking or— whatever he thought he was doing. Now was time for sleep. Or at least, pretending to sleep—

 _Shhllp!— Schkip!—_

She hated the mud—

 _Shhkkpp— kkp—_

And she could barely see anything in the rain and the darkness, this was ridiculous—

 _Kkp— kpt—_

"Argh!" she yelled as her ankle twisted and she slipped and careened forward and fell into—

Wet, cold—

Robes?

"Careful," said a low voice over her head. She didn't know how she heard it over the rain. "It's slippery."

"Th-thanks," she shivered, clutching at Dameon's cloak— of course it was Dameon— and she tried to regain her balance and—

" _Ack_ —" she squeaked as she stepped down on her foot and felt a sharp pain, and she fell forward into Dameon again because her ankle wasn't working like an ankle and it hurt a lot—

And mostly, because falling into him was much nicer than falling into the mud.

"Are you hurt, Rhen?"

She nodded into his shoulder. "My ankle— I— it's not working—"

 _Words_. She was forgetting all of them. But he brushed her wet hair out of her eyes and then he was lifting her off the ground— _shhlkp!_ — and her boots were out of the mud and dangling in the air and—

Now, also, somehow, her arms had found their way around his neck, and she was looking up at him and thinking that the rain sparkled on his face like fairy dust, and—

She could feel his heart beating through his robes, a steady rhythm that was nothing like the thunder. He was nothing like the rain— and she realized her mouth was still partway open in surprise or— whatever it was, and she quickly closed it again and looked away, and—

She had kissed Danny once. Jenna had dared her to during a winter solstice celebration, and she'd found him by the pastry cart and she'd grabbed his shoulders and—

It was slimy and gross and— thrilling, and she'd run back to Jenna and they'd giggled for weeks after. It had frightened Peter and confused Danny, which only made it all funnier.

And then, slowly like the snow melting and the flowers growing, as naturally as springtime, they had forgotten.

Kissing Dameon would be different. If she kissed him, it would feel like— like those bright mornings, the kind that dawned gradually after a long, dark, sleepless night, the kind where she was awake before the birds and she saw and heard and felt the whole world come to life around her, and felt like maybe she, too, could come alive again— he would feel like the first rays of sunlight falling gently on her skin and thawing her frightened heart, and—

"I'm going to set you down here, and look at your ankle." His soft voice brought her back abruptly to the rain and she stared up into his stupid dark eyes—

If she kissed him, she would never forget it.

He set her down on a rock and kneeled in the mud in front of her, and carefully took her foot in one hand.

"I need to take off your boot," he told her— she saw his lips form the words more than she heard them. "It might hurt."

Her boot was heavy and covered in mud and his careful graceful hands didn't belong anywhere near it— but there they were already, easing the boot off her foot and setting it aside so delicately she would have thought it was a glass slipper.

And it did hurt, but he held her ankle and rubbed the bones while muttering one of his spells, and the rain splashed on her bare toes and dripped off the end of her heel and it was all very—

Soothing.

He lowered her foot into his lap and looked up at her. "Is that better?"

Yes, but— "You're all dirty now," she told him, frowning at the mud caking the knees of his robes.

He shrugged. "I don't mind."

He picked up her boot and pulled it back over her toes and her ankle and then her calf, and she felt warm which didn't make any sense because it was supposed to be wet and cold out here— it had been, not that long ago.

"Dameon— what are you doing out in the storm?"

He looked down at the rain bouncing off the ground between them. "I couldn't sleep."

His hair was sticking to his forehead and his cheeks, and she reached out, carefully and slowly like she had learned, to brush it back. "Why not?"

Now he looked at her with wide brown eyes. "I just— I'm not ready."

She waited.

"I— It's— been so long, since I've been to the Dreamworld. I— I don't know if I can— go there again. Last time—" he swallowed and shook his head, looking at the ground again. "Last time— it— it will be hard for me," he finished quickly, and fisted his hands in his lap.

Rhen, too, was afraid to go to a place. She was afraid of what had not yet happened there, he of what had already occurred.

She slid off the rock to kneel beside him, and put her hand at his elbow. This was how she said _I'm here_ — and his elbow fit in her palm very nicely. Then, because she was tactful and patient and very serious, she said, "So you decided to take a walk in the rain?"

And then, because it couldn't get worse than that, she added, "Why didn't you put up a water shield?"

But she knew she hadn't offended him by the way his lips curved up, and he looked at her sheepishly. "I like the rain."

She blinked. "Really?"

He nodded, and one long, elegant finger traced circles in the mud. "I used to play in it, when I was little."

"Hmm," she said, tilting her head. "I always had to stay inside."

His childhood had been so different, and he was so different, but here they both were, sitting quietly in the soft rain and remembering. She traced a circle beside his.

"What did you play?"

He glanced at her, brown eyes almost glowing in the blue night. "I don't remember," he said with a nervous laugh, and his hands traced circles over the circles.

"I— I used to make— cakes. Out of mud."

She wrinkled her nose. "Cakes?"

He gave her a short, embarrassed little nod. "Yes. Like— like this."

And then his two graceful hands scooped up a pile of mud, and plopped it onto the ground between them.

She giggled— she couldn't help it, she had wondered for so long what his childhood had been like and now he was showing her and it had been full of _mud_ , and he laughed too, and she scooped up her own handful of mud and plopped it on top of his.

"Like that?"

"No," he said, but he was smiling and she almost thought he was about to make a joke. "You have to do it like you mean it. Like _this_."

Then— he tossed the mud so hard at the little pile they had made that it splashed up and Rhen gasped.

"Sorry," he said quickly, "I got carried away—"

But she was laughing now, and she gathered up all the mud she could into her two hands. "Like _this?_ " she said, and she threw the mud so hard that it spattered up into their faces and Dameon sputtered and spat it out of his mouth and—

Laughed and laughed, so that Rhen had to laugh too, and she rolled forward and had to catch herself with her hands in the stupid wet slimy mud, and she thought that if this was what rain was really like, maybe it wasn't so bad.

"You're a natural," Dameon told her when he had caught his breath, and she grinned when she had caught hers.

"This is fun."

And she patted more mud onto the cake, and he patted more mud onto it and their hands brushed against each other like timid butterflies, and their cheeks were pink in the soft blue rain.

"So this is how you played? When you were little?"

He smiled wistfully. "Sometimes. In Aveyond. It— doesn't rain in the Dreamworld."

"Oh." Now her hands were brushing his on purpose. His fingers were warm still, under the layers of mud and rain.

"I used to think storms were sort of— magical."

"Really?" She never would have thought of it before, but now— now everything seemed bright and enchanted.

"Everything sparkles in the rain." He glancing up at her with a soft smile— what sparkled was his eyes, and something in her chest when he laughed quietly and said, "Or everything gets covered in mud."

She grinned. "Like us."

He nodded and laughed again, and she took a fistful of mud and patted it down over one of his lovely warm hands.

"Rain makes things— new," she said, and she thought she was going to smile at him but then she was too shy so she smiled at the ground instead.

"Yes," he said softly, while she proceeded to bury his other hand in the wet earth. "I think— it makes the tired world beautiful again."

They breathed for a moment with nothing but those words between them, and then he said, "Rhen?"

She looked up at him, and now there was nothing between them but breathlessness, and he finished timidly, "You are like the rain, for— for me."

She blushed, and smiled, and then she was laughing and leaning over the stupid mud cake at way-past-time-for-sleeping, and saying, "And you are sunshine."

And they sat in the cold, wet, quiet rain with shining eyes and pink cheeks and warm, bright hope inside.


	32. Tear Shrine

**Tear Shrine**

 _This piece almost doesn't even belong in a fluff collection, but I think that some of what happens in this scene was a really big part of the character development in the game (and just of the plot in general), and I think it was also an important part of Rhen and Dameon's relationship, so I'm sharing it anyway._

 _Happens in the Dreamworld, pretty much right after they first enter._

 _For those of you who haven't played AP (*coughcough*) or those who don't remember, Talia has brown eyes :)_

* * *

He had not been here for… years. He had forgotten how the purple grass swayed slowly in the cool wind, too slowly, like it was underwater. He'd forgotten how the violently pink leaves of the trees rustled, quietly, as if they were whispering dangerous secrets, and the stars were scattered over his head and under his feet, there were places where the land just _ended_ , and he could have walked right off into the sparkling abyss.

He had not forgotten the path to Tear Shrine, he still remembered the way to— to—

 _Mother_.

His heart fluttered desperately in chest, like he'd swallowed one of those portal butterflies and it was trying to escape. He wished he could escape.

Or maybe—

Maybe—

He took one tentative step forward, toward the shrine, towards _her_. He knew she wasn't there. She was never _there_ , when he looked for her.

But—

She was his _mother_. He took another step— she had been there, sometimes, when he wasn't looking. She had told him stories about fairies, and elves, and made him wash his hands before dinner, and…

 _She had killed his father—_

He remembered _that_ , so vividly it paralyzed him— he had yelled until he thought his heart would come out his raw throat, it had done _nothing_ —

She had watched silently, like those cold, distant stars. Were they even _real_ , or were they an illusion of the Dreamworld?

 _Dreamworld_. It was not that anymore. It was a nightmare, and he was lost in it.

"Dameon?"

The calloused tips of little fingers brushed across his arm, and he turned slowly, trying to still his shaking chest—

It was Rhen. It was always Rhen.

Her eyes shined, not at all like the stars, much closer, much warmer, and she smiled bravely at him— bravely and gently. "Can you lead us to Tear Shrine?"

He knew the way, but— to walk it again—

He did not know if he could do it without breaking in two.

She was watching him quietly with those violet eyes. She trusted him. He did not deserve it—

But he wanted to.

He dipped his head. He could not raise it again, but Rhen understood, and she slipped her arm into his and followed him down the old, bloodstained path. Or, did he follow her?

The others trailed behind, starting at every rustle of the fuchsia leaves, huddling closer with every distant screech.

It was only shivens and dream witches, they weren't the worst things that had walked these paths. Dameon whispered the words for a spirit shield. He could feel Rhen relax next to him as it settled around the party. He couldn't relax, he could barely force his feet to move, one after the other—

She was a murderer, she'd taken everything from him—

She was his mother, she'd given him life, she'd held him in her lap and sung him to sleep—

She'd left him alone in a cold stone temple, with no one around except binis and fairies, and Vata, but he couldn't talk to Vata, Vata treated him like a child—

He _was_ a child, a very lost child, and he wished—

He'd had two parents once, and—

He wished—

It was impossible.

His mother had protected his dreams, even after what she'd done. He had felt her silently watching from a distance, and fading away as the sun rose, like the twinkling stars. And by that, he wasn't sure if he meant— a small light in the dark, or far away and cold, and always meddling cruelly with fate.

That was before—

Agas had meant to kill her, but he only cast her out of her realm. Dameon had been— almost grateful. He had been ashamed of his weakness, he had tried to forget the feeling. But now, as he walked the paths of his childhood, it rose up and swallowed him.

His feet stopped moving. A soft blue glow had been cast over the ground ahead of him, and he knew if he looked up he would see—

He had not been here for years. The last time—

The last time—

There had been death. He could still feel the echoes of it, reverberating in his soul.

"This is it," he said, his voice hoarse and strained and hardly recognizable as his own. "My— my—"

Rhen put a hand on his back, and said quietly, "Tear Shrine?"

He swallowed hard and nodded.

The others slowly stepped around him, began climbing the temple steps. Rhen tugged on his hand, and, somehow, his feet started moving forward again, closer and closer to—

A monster lived in the shrine, and as he finally reached the top of the stairs, Dameon half-expected to see his father's body still lying on the floor, his mother standing watching with her silent dark eyes.

He had his mother's eyes.

What he saw, instead of any of the familiar horrors, was _him_.

Agas.

The demon laughed at them, a low, dead sound, a sound that did not belong _here_ , in his—

His—

 _Home_ —

"You've come only to die!" Agas hissed, and—

Not _here_ , in the last refuge he had known, the final resting place of all his hopes— there had been light laughter once, and warm smiles, and— and— there had been tears, too, from more than one set of eyes—

"You are the one responsible for my mother's demise!"

The words— came out of _his_ mouth, and— and he _meant them_ — he was going to split into two, he could not hold both of these feelings in him at once, he would be destroyed—

"I recognize you, sun priest. Whose side are you on?"

His father fought for justice, his mother for mercy, and he—

He—

He didn't know.

"I've always suspected your intentions," the demon said, with a low, scornful laugh, and he drew his sword with a clang that might have been a death knell. "Prepare to be destroyed!"

But somehow—

Somehow—

When it was over, it was Agas who yelled and crumbled into dust. Elini was quickly drawing the symbols that would allow her to call him back to the living realm, and Rhen stood in front of where the demon had been, panting, and she turned to stare at Dameon—

He could hardly do more than stare, himself.

"He is destroyed," he said, quietly, amazed. "My mother will be proud."

The words felt strange in his mouth, strange and… and… He nearly said them again, but his eyes met Rhen's and she watched him with— fear. She was _afraid_ of him— he had never meant to frighten her _._

"Dameon? Did you know the demon?"

 _The demon_ — he was surprised the Tear Shrine did not come crashing down around him, he had forgotten, for a moment, why he was here, what had been done— how could he forget?

Rhen looked down, and then up at him again. "He talked with you as if he did."

He could only stare at her, his breath rattling in his chest, like it was empty, like he'd finally managed to lose the heart that beat there and bled—

He swallowed, and looked at the floor. "I encountered him once before," he said, carefully, his voice flat and lifeless. He would lose her now—

He had already lost everything once.

"You must trust me," he begged. "I am against him."

 _Him_ — his father, or Agas?—

"— _Them_ ," he corrected, quickly, and he heard Lars scoff, and Rhen—

Rhen—

"I trust you will do what is right."

He did not deserve it. He did not know if he could live up to it, or if he even knew what right _was_ —

But he wanted to.

He raised his head to look at her. She looked back with brave, guileless eyes, and he said the only thing a broken, lost person could when a hero like her believed in them.

"Thank you, Rhen."

She nodded, and she bent down to pick up the Dreamer's Tear from where it rested in the dust. She cradled it carefully in her palms, and the glowing liquid swirled in the glass orb. There had been tears, from more than one set of eyes.

Slowly, she walked to him, her gaze not leaving his, and she pressed the orb into his shaking hands.


	33. Rhen's Shield

**Rhen's Shield**

 _Originally this was going to be titled "Stupid," for reasons which will become obvious as you read, but my sister suggested the title I ended up going with and it is so brilliant and metaphorical and much less, uh, stupid than my previous choice, and hopefully you all get it._

 _Happens after the party tries to go to Time Shrine but finds the way blocked by a fairy. I have them going there right after defeating Agas because otherwise how would they know to go back to Thais to defeat Aesma? So here, have this fluffy thing._

* * *

It wouldn't have happened if he wasn't so adorable. He didn't _have_ to be so tall and lithe, and there wasn't any good reason for his broad chest— except for her to hide in, but that wasn't helping his case. And his eyes didn't need to be so dark and deep and just right for reflecting all the things she had thought she would never find, and those two careful hands, so perfect for holding and soothing and— so utterly, entirely _useless_ when it came to offense—

That was another thing. He did _try_ , no one could say he wasn't trying, but really the only thing she could think when she watched him swinging that silly staff was that it was— well, it was _cute._

And usually Rhen could deal with this just fine, when they were fighting bigger monsters and he was focused on keeping the shields up and she was focused on death and destruction, but _that_ day—

They were in Memory Caverns, the only thing to fight was the overgrown frogs, and they were gross and slimy and they converged on Rhen's little group like an army, but they were easy enough to deal with if you had a sword or an axe or some simple spell to take them out. But if you had a _stick_ — well, the frogs were swamping Dameon, and he swung his silly staff very patiently, but Rhen—

Maybe it was just that she was _not_ patient, or maybe it was because— she'd seen him crumbling after Agas, and felt the pieces of him slipping away from her while his eyes begged her to hold on— she _would_ hold on, she would never ignore those eyes.

She had one basic instinct which overrode all the others, which drove her forward even when her spirit was broken, and that instinct was, to protect every helpless thing.

And it was silly, but maybe that was why, even though they were only fighting frogs, and the frogs could only barely get to any of them through their armor, and there was literally precisely _zero_ risk of even Dameon getting seriously hurt, even with his stupid stick— despite all of this, she still kept finding herself stepping in front of the druid and taking down everything that leapt at him. And by the way, having frog slime spattered all over her sword was not her favorite thing, and neither was having to wipe it off on her pants for the fifty hundredth time.

Nor was she particularly fond of the way Elini kept raising her delicate little eyebrows and tilting her perfectly rounded chin, as if to say, _I see_ , but there was most definitely assuredly _not_ anything to see here, except maybe the bright blush on Rhen's face, which was really just a flush from the exertion of battle. Obviously.

She could tell that Te'ijal believed otherwise, but Te'ijal wasn't _always_ right, and neither was Lars, with his rolling eyes. And just because Galahad _thought_ something didn't mean it was true, not even if Pirate John was looking at him with what seemed suspiciously like agreement.

The only sane one in this party was Mad Marge. Marge never looked twice at anyone. Except to spit at them.

And then there were the fairies, the giggling, sparkling fairies who never told Rhen anything helpful, and— that one on the steps of Time Shrine, who wouldn't let them pass! _That_ one— she refused every sort of bribery Elini could think up, deflected every argument Lars could make, ignored even the worst of Mad Marge's glares. She wouldn't even tell Rhen how to help. All she kept saying was that she had been separated from her family, and she wanted to be alone.

That, there, was the worst part. Rhen couldn't even be mad at her. Well she _could_ be mad, _very_ mad, surpassingly angry, in fact— but she was mad at herself for being mad because— it was just a little lonely fairy, lost in a world too big for her, longing for what she had known before and refusing to let go of it, even when it was so obviously irretrievably gone.

Anyway, because of _that_ fairy they were on their way back to Thais. They had found a fairy kettle in Thais, so maybe they'd find fairies there, too, and if not...

If not Rhen supposed Ahriman would just wait nicely in whatever hole he was hiding in while they scoured the world for forever, looking for signs of a fairy group that probably had never existed and wearing their boots clean through to their socks— if they all even wore socks, which she rather suspected Mad Marge didn't. And—

 _Why were there so many frogs in these blasted caverns?!_

She swung her sword with a frustrated grunt, dispatching them all in a violent spatter of slime and other icky gooey froggy stuff, and then—

She was swinging her sword around to put it back in her scabbard, and she threw her shield arm up for balance and that's when it happened— she'd forgotten how close she was standing to him, right up until she heard the sickening _thud_ of thick metal hitting flesh.

She whirled around in time to see him stumble backwards, his hands pressed to his face—

"Dameon!"

"Augh—"

She shook her shield off her arm and it landed with a _clang_ on the rocky ground— "Are you okay, Dameon? I didn't mean to, I was stupid—"

"I'm fine," he grunted, "it's okay, Rhen—"

But he was dropping dizzily onto the nearest rock, and she couldn't believe him—

"Here, let me see it," she knelt next to him, and reached for his wrists—

"No—" he protested, leaning away, "No, I just need a minute—"

"Leave him alone, you'll just make it worse," Lars said, and Rhen wished she could sink straight into the ground, but Dameon shook his head—

"That's not it, I— I'm just dizzy, give me a moment."

Rhen did, a painful anxious moment of her wringing her hands and wondering why she had to be so careless and reckless and stupid, and then he was clumsily reaching for his pack, and she saw the swollen, purpling skin—

"You're bruising!" she yelled, like it was an accusation, as if _he_ had anything to do with her inability to control herself— "I'm sorry, Dameon. Let me help. Please?"

"It isn't bad, you don't need to worry—"

But she _was_ worried, and she felt so far from him lately, and far from everything, she couldn't do _anything_ , it was all hurtling towards— towards disaster, probably, and she couldn't get a grip on it— and he was fumbling with the ties on his pack—

" _Please_ , Dameon?" She felt her face drooping into a pout, but she couldn't help it, and she caught his eyes on hers and held them there, and her face was going to burn off—

And he looked down, his cheeks pink like hers, and he nodded once. "Okay."

He gave her his pack, and she took it in both hands. Aloe was for bruises, she had learned that fighting the feral oxen near Thornkeep. She hadn't been in control then, either, but the world had felt smaller. She'd wished for space back then.

She crushed the leaf into a paste while everyone stared at her— everyone except Mad Marge, who sat herself down on a rock a few yards away and took out a hunk of venison and chewed loudly. And then—

Rhen took Dameon's face in one hand, and tilted his chin up so she could see his eye— and she didn't need to look behind her to know that Elini's eyebrows were up in her hairline again, and Lars was rolling his eyes, and Galahad was pointedly looking away while Te'ijal made that face that meant she was laughing on the inside but was too composed and elegant to laugh out loud, but— she had hit him pretty hard, she could see where the skin was broken, and she pulled his face closer and he meekly closed his eyes as she smeared the paste over the bruise.

Her hands were shaking, _why_ couldn't she do anything right?

"Ouch," he protested, flinching away—

"Sorry," she said quickly, and then—

And then—

Her stupid—

 _Eyes_ —

"Rhen!" Dameon let out a soft anxious sound, leaning towards her again. "Don't cry," he soothed. "I didn't mean it. You are doing well. Here, you can finish."

He took her hand and pressed it against his tender, bruised face, after she'd hurt it, _twice_ — and she— she—

"I c-can't," she sniffled, and she tried to ignore Mad Marge snorting and spitting at an enchanted mushroom— "I— I'll mess it up again—"

"It— it's okay, Rhen," he said softly, and now he took her face in his hands. "Please don't cry. You haven't done anything wrong."

She tried not to cry, but now that she had started she couldn't stop, and she tore her face from his hands and hid it in his stupid broad chest and he wrapped his stupid gentle arms around her and she cried because she was stupid and little and lost—

"It's all right, sword singer," Elini's voice said, and Rhen felt her slender hand on her shoulder. And then—

"It's okay to cry," Te'ijal said, patting Rhen's other shoulder. "It seems to be normal for humans."

Rhen had to laugh at that, and then sob, and Dameon's robes absorbed all of it.

"You have many pressing responsibilities weighing on your shoulders," Galahad said, and he added his heavy gloved hand to that burden, and Rhen felt surrounded in an entirely different way than she had with the frogs.

"We all have bad days" Lars said, joining the circle. And then Pirate John, too—

"We're here for you, girl."

She was an idiot, to be feeling sorry for herself when she had so much support, to be crying when she was the one who had hurt someone, and she tried to dry her face on Dameon's sleeve and she looked up at all of them through red-rimmed eyes and stuttered, "Th-thank you, guys. I'm sorry I'm such a mess lately."

She tried to smile at each of them in turn, even Mad Marge, who was still sitting on her rock, chewing her venison. The barmaid scowled, and swallowed her food, and then she said—

"You're tough enough, for a landlubber."

It was probably the nicest thing she had said in her life, and Rhen— she guessed she could take that, and she laughed.

And then started to cry again, and hid it in Dameon's shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry I mess everything up."

And everyone patted her back, and Dameon stroked her hair, and his lips searched for her ear and he whispered softly, for just her to hear, "It's okay to make mistakes."

She trembled against him, and she thought of the little lost fairy, and of Thais, and Ahriman, and Agas— and she thought of the way Dameon reached out for her when he was breaking apart, and she tilted her head up and carefully pressed her lips to the broken skin around his eye.

Which was a mistake, because it tasted like aloe. But then he smiled at her, and kissed her nose, and Te'ijal really did laugh and so did Pirate John and Lars shook his head and Elini raised her eyebrows.

And it was okay.


	34. Old Songs

**Old Songs**

 _You can consider this piece a tribute to Aaron Walz's gorgeous soundtrack, which had a lot of gaelic folksong influences. And you can also consider it another introspective piece for Rhen, cuz I do what I want._

 _The lullaby mentioned was meant to be based on the story of the sun priests who sent the demons back to the demon realm and closed the "great schism" in like 4521 d (according to books in AP), and on the story of the sun priests who gave their lives to create agea and defeat Ahriman. I just really love the lore of Aia._

 _Happens sometime after Rhen and co leave Memory Caverns and sometime before they get to Thais again._

* * *

She used to sing sometimes. Silly, old songs Ma had taught her, songs about children growing up like apple trees, or cheerful ballads of the druid Armaiti and the harvest. There was a sweet, sad song about a girl who gathered pink marion bells for her lover in the spring, only to lay them on his grave when summer came. Sometimes Rhen had hummed that one to herself as she brushed through her hair in the early mornings, watching while the light crept over her companions and the campsite slowly came alive.

Ma's favorite song had been an ancient lullaby about the coming and going of the sun. At least, that was the best sense Rhen could make of it. The tune was slow and soft, but the words told the story like it was a battle. The sun's rays were the warriors of light, the shadows were cruel demons. The night fought to keep Aia in cold darkness, the day fought to restore warmth and brightness. There was a verse about the Goddess lamenting the price of sunlight— _fire burnt to ashes, flowers from the soot_.

In the end, the light sealed the dark forces in the ground, and the bravest of the burning warriors closed the schism and burnt out, _fire burnt to ashes_. The last verse was about how these dead suns lived still in the stars, guarding Aia from the return of total darkness.

Rhen used to sing that one to herself as she settled into her dirty bed in Mistress Rona's house, and again in her room at Shadwood Academy. She had hummed it while lying on her sleeping mat for some months. She used to sing all the time, now that she thought of it. But Lars had always been quick to point out how off-key she was, and Elini would smile politely and tell her maybe she should stick to sword singing. So Rhen didn't sing any more. The last time had been maybe— maybe last fall, when they were exploring the lowlands. One of the farmers had been humming a harvest song, and she'd joined in until she'd heard Te'ijal's trilling laugh, and turned to see Elini's carefully neutral face and Lars' rolling eyes.

It was fall again now. There was a sharp chill in the air, and a certain over-ripeness about the soil. The world was in a state of decay, like those wilted marion bells in the last verse of the song about the girl and her departed lover.

Rhen peeked out of her sleeping mat and stared up at stars, and she thought of burnt out fire and flowers growing up from what was left.

" _Stop_ —" a hoarse voice choked, jarring the quiet Rhen had been relaxing into. " _Why—_ "

It was Dameon, crying brokenly into his blanket, tossing and turning and babbling quick, frightened pleas. He was having a nightmare again.

The first time it happened, Te'ijal had watched him curiously, intrigued by this strange human phenomenon called "a bad dream." Now she barely glanced at him. Elini would sigh sympathetically and pretend not to notice. Lars would roll over and bury his head in his blankets, and Marge would glare, but she never said anything. John slept through everything, and Galahad always resolutely kept his eyes on Te'ijal.

Nobody ever tried to wake Dameon, and nobody mentioned it to him in the morning. And he never said anything about it to them. So Rhen had followed this pattern, for months now, for seasons, for almost a year.

 _A year_. Had it been that long? Had it been that _short_? It felt more like a moment, and a decade, all at once.

" _I— trusted— you,_ " Dameon sobbed quietly. Could he really be asleep? His eyes were closed, but—

"Dameon," she broke the pattern with a whisper. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer, he just rolled over again, and his breaths came in small, strangled gasps. " _Father—_ "

"Wake up, Dameon," she said firmly, quietly. "It's just a dream. You're okay."

" _Don't— no—"_

She kicked off her covers and crawled over to him. "Wake up," she said again, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He shuddered and she shook him gently and his eyes flew open, dark lashes blinking away tears. "Rhen—"

"Sshh. It's okay, Dameon," she soothed. "You were having a nightmare."

He stared up at her, first bewildered and then embarrassed, his cheeks tinged a soft pink under the starlight and his chest still heaving.

She looked away and then reached for his hand; his tossing and turning had uncovered it and it felt cold in her fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He breathed in and then out and he shook his head. "No."

So they didn't. She sat beside him with his hand in hers and he stroked her knuckles with his thumb, and they let the silence of night settle around them.

It was cold.

"It will be morning soon," Dameon said suddenly, looking up at the sky.

Rhen followed his gaze. It was still dark as Halloween Hills. The air was motionless, not even the birds were awake. But there were the stars, twinkling faintly with the promise of tomorrow.

"Yes," she said softly. The day would come.

"Do you remember—" he hesitated. "You used to sing a song. About the morning."

She blushed. "Oh." The ground suddenly seemed rather hard against her knees. "I sort of hoped you didn't remember that."

His brow crinkled, and a little line appeared between his eyes. "Why?"

"Well, I— er— I didn't sing it very well."

"Oh."

There was a pause while his thumb stopped stroking her knuckles, and he reached up instead to brush her hair away from her face. The tips of his fingers were cold but his smile was warm. "I— I thought it sounded— nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes."

"Oh." She took his hand again, and clutched it between both of hers. "Would— would it help you sleep if I sang it again?" Her face was burning red like the burning warriors but his was mild and soothing.

"If you'd like to sing it, I— I would like it very much."

So she took a long, deep breath, and then she sang the old lullaby, off-key but happily for the first time in— it really had been nearly a year. And slowly like apple blossoms floating in the wind Dameon's dark eyelashes fluttered and closed, and his breathing evened out and his chest rose and fell gently like the melody, _fire burnt to ashes._

 _Flowers from the soot._


	35. Trembling

_**Trembling**_

 _Happens in the Blasted Lands, probably on the way to the Dark Caverns. I have them camping on the way there and this piece starts in the dark hours of the morning. You don't know it yet but this is the piece you've been waiting for, so enjoy this dameonxrhen okay thanks_

* * *

It had grown in him so quietly he couldn't say when it began; maybe yesterday, maybe weeks or even months ago. Parts of it he thought he could trace to that first moment her unconquerable eyes met his. Sometimes it felt like— like it had been growing in him his whole life.

But that didn't make any sense. It was only safe to say that it _was_ growing, and— and it was uprooting his old ideas and fears. It was destroying him and building him over again. He didn't know how.

He wanted to tell her, and _that_ didn't make any sense either. Already she was stripping him of every defense, and defense was all he knew. Could he survive being that— exposed? Surely it was foolishness to try. And yet—

And yet he _had_ tried, so many times, to tell her. The words, if there were any, eluded him. He told her she was deadly and beautiful, and that— didn't even begin to explain it. He told her about the stars and the rain and the sunrise and every achingly lovely thing he could think of, but none of it compared to— to—

He told her she was brave. And wise. He tried to remind her that she was capable, and strong, and worthy of every happiness.

And mostly, he just smiled at her and hoped somehow she understood the strange growing _thing_ that was happening to his soul.

Sometimes he thought it had something to do with her smile. She had a small thin little mouth but somehow her smile, her _real_ smile, was as big as the crescent moon. He wished she could always have a reason to smile like that, and to sometimes _be_ that reason himself was— was—

Dameon shook his head and rolled over on his sleeping mat. He was just going to make _it_ worse— stronger. Better?

Sometimes he thought it was the way she laughed. She had two laughs, one muffled and shy like a fairy bell, and one that was startling, loud and happy and unrestrained. More than once, he caught himself telling jokes, real jokes, _terrible_ jokes, and he wasn't sure if she laughed because he told them or if he told them because she laughed. Her laugh, both laughs, made him want to laugh, and that was—

Was—

It was time to wake up, and stop— thinking. He pushed the blanket off himself and sat up and immediately regretted everything because it was _cold_. Too cold to wake up into.

He looked up at where Te'ijal was keeping watch. She had the bottle of sunscreen in her lap and was rubbing creamy dollops of it onto her bare arms, apparently unaffected by the frigid air.

The fire was dying. He couldn't blame Te'ijal for not noticing; it wouldn't make much difference to her. Galahad, on the other hand, had his blanket pulled up over his head and his knees curled into his chest. He looked rather like a very large and very cold and miserable cat, and rather unlike a gallant and fearless knight. Dameon would never tell him that, but he might tell Rhen, and then she might laugh and that would be—

Anyway, Elini and Lars also looked cold and miserable. Pirate John's teeth were chattering and Mad Marge looked— murderous, actually. If he didn't stoke the fire soon she would probably kill them all.

He groggily reached for his boots and pulled them on. They were cold. Everything was cold. He stood up and draped his blanket over his shoulders, and then clumsily stepped over Lars and around Galahad. Te'ijal glanced back at him and then down at the paladin, her mouth curving into a smile that was either fondness or mischief. Dameon was sure he didn't want to know which.

Elini pulled her feet up as he passed her mat. Rhen's feet were already pulled up. He wouldn't have known she was even on her mat except the shivering mound at the other end of it. He hesitated, and then—

And then he knelt beside her, and put his blanket over hers. It would be warm enough soon with the fire anyway, and— when he pulled the blanket over her she made a little contented noise, like a hum, and he felt warmer already.

If he could just tell her.

He found the stick designated for coal-stirring and poked at what was left of the fire. Tiny sparks floated up from it like fairy dust. Fairy dust was supposed to reveal the truth, maybe he could just swallow some, and the words would come out.

And then— and then— he didn't know what came next. Maybe she would kill him, like his mother had his father. Maybe that's how it always went.

He pushed more sticks into the coals and watched them smoke and then ignite and slowly, quietly— burn, burn, burn.

The sparks travelled up towards the sky, as if trying to join the stars there in infinite space. For once it was not overcast. That would probably change before the morning was over, if the slight but persistent breeze that was playing with the fire had anything to say about it.

He might as well make breakfast.

He made his way to the brown pack near John, and carefully pulled cooking utensils out of it, trying not to wake the sleeping pirate. John made a sound like a snort and Dameon froze, but then he rolled over and settled back into an easy breathing rhythm and Dameon realized it was just a snore.

The oatmeal was in the pack by Elini. Elini was "rather weary" of oatmeal, she had informed them all yesterday morning. But Dameon didn't know what else to make. He was so tired, and cold.

Shivering, he put the oatmeal in a pot over the fire, and poured in water from his pouch.

The sun was almost up now; the sky was glowing orange. And there, slowly but steadily approaching, were the gray clouds, painted by the dawn with pink and orange and vivid violet.

His mother used to tell him she missed seeing the sun rise. Maybe she was watching the sky now, too.

Maybe she didn't care anymore.

"Dameon?"

He started, and whirled around to find that Rhen was awake and up, and she was holding her brush out towards him with a hesitating little frown. "Can you help me with my hair today? It's too cold to do anything."

He nodded, and reached out to close his hand around the brush, but the corners of her mouth curved up and her little calloused fingers wrapped around his hand instead, and she pulled him to her mat to sit. It was easy to follow her.

"Rhen—" he began as he bent his knees to sit behind her— he would tell her _now_ , before he lost his nerves— if he could only find the words— he had no idea what to say after her name. "Rhen—"

"Yes, Dameon?" she said, picking up his blanket and pulling it around her shoulders.

"I— I—" he swallowed. He was shaking and he didn't want his voice to shake, this was too important. "I— I hope you feel— warmer now."

 _That_ — was definitely not what he meant. And he definitely felt warmer now, a strange, trembling warmth that quivered in his stomach.

She laughed, the shy, fairy bell laugh. "I do. Thank you for the blanket."

He managed some sort of inarticulate hum in response, and busied himself with untangling her hair. It was so curly in the mornings, twisting and looping over itself and refusing to be separated. It was stubborn. And soft, and— one of his favorite things.

That _feeling_ was swelling in his chest again.

It had very little to do with her smile or her laugh, really. It was more about— about— something in the way she turned to him to help her. She trusted him, and it was exactly that simple and that perplexing.

 _I think you have a good heart, Dameon_.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew that he wanted it to be true. He wanted to be someone she could depend on in this world of inconstancy.

There was always a particularly obstinate tangle just at the back of her neck. He held it carefully and tried to separate it with his fingers.

He could depend on _her_. She had proven it more than once. He was used to trusting only himself, he wasn't sure how to let her in. He _shouldn't_ let her in— but she fit so softly into the ragged edges of his broken life.

He was used to falling. He wasn't used to the way she caught him, every time.

He wanted to tell her. Maybe _it_ was just "thank you," maybe that's what all this ridiculous _feeling_ was about. He opened his mouth but the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He swallowed a few times, and what he managed to say was—

"You— you're— you're still shivering, Rhen. Here, take my cloak."

He put the brush in his lap and swung the cloak off his shoulders and onto hers. She tried to protest, "No, _you'll_ be cold. Dameon!"

She had a very good scolding voice, but he couldn't have shivered if he tried. His cheeks were burning.

"I'm fine. Sun Priest and all that," he assured her, leaning forward to say it into her ear. She sensed the teasing in his voice and she laughed again even though the joke was stupid. He was getting much better— or maybe much worse— at stupid jokes.

He finished brushing through her hair and carefully began separating it into three purple bunches. He remembered he had been surprised to learn braids needed only three sections, they looked more intricate than that, like they had six, maybe seven parts at least. But he had learned that the simplest things were sometimes the strongest.

Rhen was the strongest thing he knew. Very strong, physically; she could probably wrestle a dragon and come out on top. But also—

There was another sort of strength, a quieter, softer strength that lived not in her arms but in her _self_. She always— helped. He remembered, she had carried Theodore nearly the whole way to the Gentle Children's School. She didn't have to. The child could walk. But he laughed so hard when she swung him over her shoulders, the little warlock was completely enamored with her.

Dameon had taken care of Theodore during battles. He had no idea how children worked, especially witch children. But Theodore hadn't seemed to mind, he just talked to Dameon like a grown-up. A very small, very strange grown-up. He told Dameon once that he used to think it was horribly wicked of him to not be wicked, and that he'd wished for his mother's sake he could be mean just once, but that now he thought, maybe, it was okay to be kind, even if sometimes it was hard. Dameon had nodded and ruffled the boy's hair like he'd seen Rhen do sometimes, and he'd thought to himself that these were heavy subjects for someone so young.

Rhen was always kind when it was hard. Maybe especially then. She was fearless, and gentle, and— not really fearless at all, just brave.

If he knew courage like that, he could— he could tell her. He was so afraid of what that level of trust could do to him, he remembered how it felt to be destroyed by someone he depended on. He knew what it was to burn to ashes.

He was learning what it was to grow from them.

 _Over and under_ , he weaved her hair around itself as carefully as he could.

He wished he had words sufficient to tell her what he was thinking, or— or feeling. There _were_ words, he could feel them burning in his lungs. But he couldn't get them out through his mouth, any more than he could cough up his ribs.

 _Over, and under_ —

 _"Dameon,_ " a tired little voice protested. "You've got to braid my hair more tightly than _that!_ "

"Oh, Rhen—"

"What if we get into a battle, and it comes loose?"

"Well, I—" he twirled a lock of lavender around his fingers— it was wispy and fine and soft enough to kiss, and certainly much, much too delicate to pull tight, and— before he could catch himself he had leaned forward and brought the lock up to his mouth— _he had been wrong_ , it was much, much too soft to kiss, and he was drowning in the words that were burning in his lungs— he dropped it onto her back again, and cleared his throat and tried to say lightly, "Then— I suppose I will have to— braid it again."

She laughed, because he had made another incredibly stupid joke, and he felt less like drowning and more like floating and he smiled and, carefully, pulled the strands more firmly against her head.

She passed him her hair ribbon, and he took it and wrapped it around the end of her braid. He had to tell her. He was going to burst, and spill over everything— it was better to get it over with. His hands were trembling but he had finished tying the ribbon somehow, and she was turning to face him—

"Rhen!"

She turned wide violet eyes towards him and he tried to compose himself, and continued more softly, "Rhen, I— I have— I—" he didn't know how to communicate what was happening in him, but he had to say it, to tell her, _somehow_ —

"I have— an abundance of— feelings— for you—" and they were holding him in place, shaking him— "strong feelings, and you— I am undone." He swallowed, but his voice still wavered like the light of the fire in the wind. "I don't know how to tell you. You're everything. You— I— Rhen," he was pleading now, "do you understand at all?"

She looked up at him with her brow furrowed— _why, why_ was he doing this? She was rejecting him, as well she should; she was braver than him, stronger than him, _more_ than him, and he felt himself crumbling under her gaze, could almost hear the pieces of himself falling around him. He wouldn't feel this here, with her right there, he had to get away. He tried to stand but she was leaning towards him, her eyes like two soft lights, and he couldn't move. Her hands were taking his and he was trembling and his cheeks were wet, couldn't she see that she was killing him?

"Why are you running from me?" She was saying quietly, but he couldn't speak, didn't know what the answer was except that he hurt, and he didn't want to cry in front of her but he already was—

"I'm— sorry, Rhen— I shouldn't have said anything—"

She was leaning closer, her little hands trailing up his arms and behind his neck— what was she _doing_ — he could feel his heart pounding through every inch of him—

Her quick breaths were tickling his mouth, and he couldn't breathe, and—

And—

 _Oh_.

He couldn't feel anything except _her_ , little lips softly saying everything his couldn't, all without making a sound, and slowly, naturally like rain falling or wind blowing he was relaxing into her, his hands found her waist and he cradled her shaking form against his chest.

And their fears scattered like shadows in the timid light of the breaking day.


	36. Innocence

**Innocence**

 _First off, tinctura hypericum is a powerful healing item in the game. Tinctura is a medicinal mixture and hypericum is a flowering plant which actually has healing properties in real life (which I know because I'm a nerd), and it tends to react badly with other pharmaceuticals. So now when Dameon does his nerd babbling thing, you will know what he's talking about. Which actually isn't necessary to understanding the story but it's nice to not be confused, yeah?_

 _This is a story about Rhen's innocence and her trying to reconcile her really very gentle and kind nature with the violence she has seen and done. Sometimes we see these things as mutually exclusive and I think Rhen would have to work through having both in her— and because of Dameon's experiences, he would be able to help. Happens in Thais, before Aesma. RhenxDameon as always~_

* * *

The problem was, he had very soft lips, like marionbells or apple blossoms, and she had very rough hands, and she didn't understand— of all the places he _could_ have kissed, her forehead, maybe, or her cheeks, or her _mouth_ — but instead he always chose the dirtiest, roughest part of her and it was— was—

Bewildering.

Ma had always told her to wash her hands. And she had been right, Rhen's hands were always filthy. Rhen had used them to pick apples and catch butterflies and she couldn't remember a time there hadn't been dirt under her nails.

When she was a slave she'd scrubbed walls and floors until she didn't _have_ nails anymore. She'd smashed spiders with her palms and got their gooey guts all over her fingers, and nobody had been there to tell her to wash them. She'd rinsed the gore off in muddy streams and dried her hands on her ragged smock and wondered if she'd ever hear Ma's scolding again.

And when she'd had to she'd grabbed a stick in her hands and swung it— the splinters she got were for Eddy and she didn't regret them but she knew they weren't beautiful. Violence was never anything but monstrous.

Except, maybe—

Maybe—

She had learned how to make swords sing and she got more than splinters from that; cuts and bruises that faded away and rough calluses that didn't. And it was those which Dameon always kissed with his flower petal lips, like they meant something.

 _I had no idea how skilled you were with a sword_.

Her skill surprised most people, nobody expected ferocity from her. They didn't know what she'd sacrificed to become like this, they didn't understand she fought because she had to, because no one else would, because _somebody_ had to stand between the monsters and the helpless, and if that made her a monster, too, then—

She would be what she must.

 _Deadly and beautiful at the same time._

 _Deadly_ she had heard before. _Beautiful_ was—

Familiar in the same way a bird's song was after a long, cold winter, something she had known once and forgotten.

It was winter now, or nearly winter. It might as well always be winter in Thais, there were no birds and the only green things were the carefully kept trees growing in straight lines in the courtyards. They didn't look much older than Rhen was herself; their branches were still spindly and they stood hardly taller than Galahad. Some stubborn gardener had planted them after the demon attack, and had fought all the elements to keep them alive.

 _That_ sort of fighting was— it wasn't really monstrous, was it? She couldn't bring herself to call it monstrous. There was another word for it. If she was Elini she might know what it was, but she was just Rhen and she didn't know, so instead she stood and watched the stupid trees swaying in the wind and wondered.

It was Dameon who finally found her. He was good at that.

"Hi, Rhen," he said softly as he came up next to her.

"Hi, Dameon." She turned to face him. "Finished shopping already?"

He smiled and swung his pack off his shoulder to show her. "We have plenty of cassia leaves now," he said, briefly touching the neat bundle he had wrapped them in, "and they had tinctura hypericum. I don't know where they got the flowers, nothing seems to grow here. We'll have to be careful not to take it with anything else, it can react badly and— Rhen?" he interrupted himself. "Is something wrong?"

She had been staring at the trees again. She forced herself to look away from them and tried to smile.

"No," she said, in a tone that was meant to be convincing but was mostly tired. "Go on, I'm listening. You were talking about flowers."

She had heard _something_ about flowers, and nothing growing, and then she had lost track.

"Flowers…" he repeated slowly, looking at her and then at the trees and furrowing his brow. Apparently that _hadn't_ been his main topic. "Well, I— I couldn't find any flowers, but—" he cleared his throat almost nervously, which wasn't exactly the reaction she had expected, and then, "I did find something for you."

He was rummaging around in his pack, and he pulled out something small and leather.

"I— I noticed your old gloves were wearing out, and these looked like they would fit you. They _do_ have flowers on the ends." His ears were pink as he held them out for her to take. There were little blue asters embroidered along the wrist seams.

They were very pretty, which seemed strange for something made for a fighter, but it was sort of— nice. And she had never been eloquent, she wasn't sure what to say, but she managed to stammer out, "Er, thanks, Dameon," and then—

He smiled at her, that stupid sappy smile that made her cheeks hot, and he took one of her hands in his and gently pressed it to his stupid soft lips— which was— which was—

"Why do you do that?" she asked, searching his face. He tilted his head at her.

"Do what?"

She was very warm and probably very pink and her heart seemed to have forgotten its regular rhythm and was now inventing its own wild pulse, but she was stubborn and she managed to say, without squeaking, "Why do you kiss my hands?"

There was a pause while he thought— his silences were familiar now, his slow and careful ways were soothing, and she found her breath as he brushed her hair back behind her ear. "I guess because— your hands do so much for others— and for— _me._ " He looked at her with those deep brown eyes and that serious little frown and she clutched at the gloves. _"_ I just want to— take care of them."

And he took both her hands, and pressed them to his heart the same way she might have pressed a marionbell to hers when she was a small child with dirt under her nails—

 _Deadly and beautiful._ He cherished even the parts of her that were frightening, and the word for that was—

Was—

"Well, you _could_ kiss my mouth, you know."

And he did, so, so softly she might have thought it was spring and the flowers had grown again.


	37. Slowly

**Slowly**

 _Sometimes I write something to explore the relationship development between Rhen and Dameon and sometimes I write to pay tribute to forgotten plot points in Aveyond that are too beautiful and important to fade into obscurity, and sometimes, sometimes I write just because I have feelings and I love my otp. This is one of those times._

 _So enjoy this rhenxdameon piece that happens during/mostly after the battle with Aesma, the last daeva (in the order I play)._

* * *

Aesma was too fast, even with the magic clock. It all happened too fast— he had tried to shield her, but even after all this time he could never quite keep up with her. She was standing, swinging her sword and yelling her warcry, and then—

And then—

He ran forward to catch her— he tried to, but instead he slipped and watched in horror as Aesma raised his arm for another blow—

It was Te'ijal's arrow that stopped him, and then Galahad's sword—

He couldn't remember, it all happened so quickly, but somehow he got to Rhen and Aesma fell— had it happened in that order? He didn't know.

Marge was yelling at him, or maybe she was just yelling, and Elini looked like she might be sick— Rhen wasn't moving, there was blood in her hair and running down her face, he couldn't tell where it was coming from and his hands were shaking—

He didn't know how it happened, except that she sagged in his arms when he carried her and he cradled her head near his heart and tried to think of anything but death, and somehow— somehow, they had made it to a small cavern, and set up camp there. Lars had conjured a fire and Dameon sat by it with Rhen's head in his lap and he tried to clean the blood out of her hair— it was everywhere, it stained her skin and his robes and he kept picturing his father bleeding out on the shrine floor— _no!_

He had been helpless then, he had spells now. If only one of them would work—

The others had hovered at first, and he wanted to growl that Rhen needed space, but she was their leader, she was the hero they had followed and he remembered how it felt to lose that, he couldn't ask them to go— so he let them wait.

His hands were shaking too much to check her pulse— it didn't matter, he could hear her breathing— it was all he could hear, rattling his bones.

He carefully massaged her scalp, brushing back loose strands of lavender. He couldn't close the wound if his hands were shaking— _get a grip_ — he couldn't, he'd have to start somewhere else.

He managed a deep breath, and felt for other injuries and murmured light healing spells. She was so pale, and cold— he must not rush. She had lost too much blood, she was fragile in this state.

She should never have to be fragile— why wouldn't she wake up?

The others slowly shuffled away, one by one. Galahad stayed the longest, his eyes hard and unmoving. He had that in common with Rhen, they would never back down from even the darkest, most hopeless scenes. From even death.

 _No_. She couldn't die, _she was not going to die_ —

Someone had prepared dinner— Dameon didn't know what, but John had pushed a portion of whatever it was at him and he thought he remembered swallowing some of it. Most of it was wrapped in his pack to give to Rhen when she woke up. She _would_ wake up.

His hands were steadier now and he brushed back her hair again and traced the wound. There was a large welt swelling under it. He needed to be careful. He forced himself to breathe deeply and speak evenly— he whispered, really, he didn't trust his voice beyond that. And slowly, so, so painfully slowly, the wound closed and the swelling went down and the pressure in his chest lifted— he hadn't realized it was there, until it was gone and suddenly he could breathe.

The others had spread their mats out on the cave floor, and Elini touched his shoulder and pointed to Rhen's mat— Dameon didn't know how he remembered it. He would put her there when she woke up. She _had_ to wake up, sometimes head injuries were irreversible— he wouldn't risk it.

 _Sunshine_ was the first spell he'd ever learned— _cure sleepiness_. It wasn't quite sleepiness that had her like this, but he was afraid a revive spell would be too strong. He didn't want to hurt her, he didn't want to make it worse— she still wasn't moving.

Why could _he_ not have just moved, in the _first place?_

John was already snoring and even Te'ijal was lying down.

 _Sunshine._ He'd tried to use the spell to get out of going to bed once, and his parents had lectured him on the appropriate uses of magic. _Protection and healing_. That's what he was allowed to do with his gift. The list had seemed small then. Now it seemed impossible.

Lars had stopped glaring at John and his eyes were closed. Everyone was sleeping now, everyone was breathing evenly—

Except Rhen, whose breath came in shallow little sighs. And except Dameon, who was sure he'd never sleep again.

He put his hands on either side of her head. The fire was finally starting to warm her cheeks, and her ears. She had little, round ears that stuck out from her head just slightly. She called them goofy. He called them charming.

 _Sunshine_. It was useless. She wasn't moving, the firelight reflected somberly off the ends of her eyelashes, her usually pale pink lips were ashen, he was helpless again before the last inevitability and he felt sick—

Then suddenly, _finally_ , her expression shifted, she drew her eyebrows together, and frowned, and her closed eyelids seemed to tighten.

" _Rhen?_ " he whispered hopefully, hopelessly, his breath catching in his throat. " _Are you awake?_ "

She didn't answer, but she curled into his lap.

He almost cried, she was still so cold and pale. She needed to wake up. He whispered the spell again, and carefully pressed his hands to her cheeks and ears.

The muscles of her face were tight.

His throat was closing and he swallowed— he was _not_ going to cry, he needed to heal her—

He was already crying, he couldn't do anything to stop it, and now there were tears that didn't belong to her dripping down her face—

Her long eyelashes fluttered, and now the firelight danced on the ends of them, and her two soft violet eyes opened and looked up at him.

" _Rhen—_ "

"G'morning, Sunshine," she slurred. He tried to laugh at the unintended irony of that but instead it came out as a sob, and she frowned and the rough tips of her little fingers brushed across his face. "Why're you crying?"

"I— I— I was afraid— you were— lost— I—"

He couldn't even say the words, and now he couldn't see her through the tears—

"It's all right," Rhen soothed. "I'm not lost. Don't cry."

But he couldn't help it, he couldn't catch his breath.

She watched him patiently and then asked softly, "Was it Aesma?"

 _Aesma_ — speeding across the cavern, his blows coming down like lightning, shattering the shields, knocking out every defense, and then— and then—

Dameon somehow managed to nod before he lost control of his lungs and his throat— he was going to wake the others, he tried to muffle the sounds in his hands but he wasn't sure it made a difference, and Rhen reached up and pulled his head down near hers and patted his cheek.

"It's all right," she said again. "He's gone now. Wait—" she paused, and narrowed her eyes at him. "He _is_ gone, right?"

He choked back another one of those horrible sounds, and nodded again, and her mouth curved in a small smile— her lips were pink again, and her breathing was steady and the demon was gone, he couldn't harm her any further— _he's gone, he's gone, he's gone_ —

Dameon jumped, at first, when Rhen's fingers stroked his forehead, but her hands were steady and he was tired and his chest hurt and it was— nice, to be close to her. He leaned down and her fingers found their way to his hair, too, and he didn't know what her hands were doing up there but they were warm on his head and slowly, slowly he found he had followed her back to the present, and he could breathe again and the tears had stopped and all that was left was a dull, aching warmth where the fear used to be, and a tingling where the rough tips of her little fingers brushed his scalp.

She was always steadfast while he was in chaos, she met all her monsters with unflinching strength, and—

She must be hungry, after all she'd been through.

"I saved dinner for you," he mumbled softy, close to her ear.

She smiled up at him, and her fingers finished with whatever they were doing to his hair. "Well I _am_ hungry," she admitted, and he found somehow he was smiling despite himself and he helped her sit up and then reached for his pack.

Dinner turned out to be fish, and it was burnt on the edges and cold from sitting so long away from the fire. But Rhen took it gratefully, and swallowed down large chunks of it before he could begin to apologize—

"Thanks, Dameon," she said around another mouthful. "I was afraid I would have to starve until morning." Then, "Here, have you had some?"

"I— well— you eat it, Rhen, I'm fine."

She narrowed those vivid violet eyes at him and held out the rest of the fish, and he felt light-headed and he wished he could think of a joke so she would stop looking at him like that.

"Really, I had something, it's okay," he assured her again.

She blinked. "Please, Dameon?"

He swallowed and tried to think of some argument but he couldn't and she was still looking at him so he finally took the fish and nibbled at it—

He _was_ hungry, and it felt good in his stomach, but what was really nice was the contented smile that tugged the corners of her mouth when he thanked her, and the happy sighing sound she made when he had given it back and she'd finished the rest, and especially— the way she leaned her head on his shoulder, and yawned into his chest, and sleepily announced that she would take care of the watch until Te'ijal woke up.

He smiled and tucked her hair behind her round little ear, and he carefully traced the still-tender skin where Aesma had struck her. "What if _I_ take care of the watch, and you take care of yourself and get some rest?"

"No." She shook her head. "That won't do. _You_ have to take care of me. I mean," she yawned again, "of rest. Take care of rest."

"I'll take care of both," he said, and felt thrilled and frightened at his own audacity— that was something he'd learned from Rhen. And his stomach was shaking now but he couldn't stop himself, he was already asking, "Would you like me to carry you to your mat?"

She held her arms out towards him and she was shaking, too. She didn't sag in his arms this time but she laid her head in the same place near his heart and he thought it might burst open, or maybe it already had. It was a short walk to her mat, Elini had made sure he wouldn't have to step over anyone, and he laid Rhen down and pulled the blanket over her and he wondered when the trembling would stop.

She reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes again, and her little smile told him she knew something he didn't. But she never left him long in the dark; she pulled a lock forward and held it where he could see, and now he knew what her hands had been doing in his hair; she had braided it. He laughed softly and his whole self was still quivering but he felt brave somehow and he kissed her round little nose because it was freckled and pink, and then she blushed and her nose was pinker and his heart had definitely burst now. He stroked her hair and slowly, slowly her eyes closed and her breathing evened out and it wasn't like last time, it was quiet and calm and she was safe, and slowly, slowly the tremor in his chest softened and somehow his chaos had gently settled into...

Peace.


	38. Definition

**_Definition_**

 _This piece is mostly introspective, but fits into the narrative when the party is bringing the druid of time, Vata, to Sun Shrine, knowing Rhen will have to retrieve the sword of shadows. Not exactly angst but not exactly fluff. Something else which, ironically, I cannot think of the word for. Shall we just call it DameonxRhen? Yes? Good._

 _PS: THE ONESHOTS I'LL POST OVER THE NEXT MONTH OR SO ARE GOING TO be the ending pieces, and they'll be a lot more enjoyable if the other pieces are fresh in your mind. There are repeated themes and some sort of inside jokes and pretty parallels, so I would recommend rereading this collection before you read the ending pieces if you have time. If not obviously these are all oneshots and they can stand alone so don't worry, it'll just be more fun if you can pick up on all the stupid fluffs I slipped in._

* * *

She had a crooked little smile. He didn't have anything to compare it to. There was a certain sincerity to it, an innocence that was disarming. There was art in its artlessness. It was just _her_ smile, and that was all, and that was everything.

She had a shy smile, sometimes. It was like— it was—

Dameon frowned. He didn't quite know the word. It was— quiet, maybe. Sometimes, after late night storms, the moon would hesitate behind the dark clouds and all he could see of it was a soft glow, just enough to prove it was there. Just enough to promise the light had not yet been broken. That was what her shy smile was like.

She had a laughing smile, other times. Like wind rushing through the wildflowers, or sunshine dancing on the surface of a crystal lake, or— or—

He liked to think he was generally articulate, but Rhen was not the sort of person who could be defined in words.

Rhen was the sort of person who defined them— and him, and everything. He had no idea what it meant to be _fierce_ until he saw her swinging her blade. But it wasn't that, it wasn't the movement. It was the spark in her eyes and the determination in her steady soul _._ _That_ was ferocity.

He didn't know what it was to be kind until— he couldn't trace it. He didn't know when it began. He remembered he had watched the way she treated the others, even Te'ijal, even Lars. He had watched how she took care of Theodore and the people of Dirkon, and how she kept giving and giving, and he'd wondered if she would ever run out of— of _stuff_ to give, but she didn't, and then—

Her kindness to him would be wondrous long after the stars and the moon and the bright sun had lost their glory.

She took the broken pieces of the world and made them almost make sense again, and for that he loved her.

 _Love_ — it was a small word, just one syllable. He had heard it first from his parents, it had slipped easily from his mouth when he was an ignorant child. Now it seemed stained in blood. It stuck in his throat and he couldn't spit it out and he couldn't swallow it down so it quivered there between his teeth and his lungs, and he couldn't tell it to Rhen, he meant it but he couldn't tell her. There was a history there his heart wasn't ready to live again.

He believed she knew anyway. Love sparkled in her eyes, it hugged the corners of her crooked little smile. She had defined it, after all. His parents had said the word, but Rhen taught it to him. Love gives, and she gave and never stopped.

Lately— lately that crooked smile had been small, and always shy. Lately the spark in her eyes was fainter, like it shined through a fog. And it hurt his chest, because—

The giver was coming to the end of her _stuff_ , and the world— his mother and the Oracle and every single person in Aia— would not stop demanding more, not until she was empty and desolate like the desert he had been before she found him.

He would not leave her desolate. He would protect her from _them_ — that's why he had to do what he was going to do. She might cry. If she cried he would break, but he could not, he _would_ not, let the world empty her after all she had done.

They were at the steps of the Sun Shrine, again. They always came back to this prison. Vata walked ahead of them. Rhen watched the druid ascending the stairs, and she shivered, and Dameon reached for her hand and she clutched his fingers so tightly they tingled. He wished there was something he could do to soothe her anxious, tired heart.

There was a phrase his mother used to say, a soft expression that had made him feel safe and secure when he was small. There had been no security for so long, he had forgotten it, but now he found it slipping easily from his lips.

"Dear one," he murmured, "don't be frightened. Your fate is in your brave hands. You will see."

She looked up at him with her piercing violet gaze. Her jaw was firm and her back was straight, everything about her was sturdy, she was nearly invincible.

But what he wanted for her was happiness.

He leaned down so his mouth was closer to her ear. "It will be our turn to climb the steps soon, but... we must let Vata take his _time_."

She rolled her eyes, and then she smiled, like the wind rushing through wildflowers, and he pressed his lips to her freckled forehead and she gripped his fingers more tightly.

And now it was their turn to ascend the stairs.


	39. The Truth

**_The Truth_**

 _Hey yoo, this piece will be most enjoyable if you've read all the pieces before it, so if you're not sure if you've missed anything or something, feel free to pm me here or wherever and ask, I'll do my best to figure it out with you :) (I'm Mu11berry other places, instagram, deviantart, aveyond forums, tumblr… take your pick haha)_

 _This piece begins the day before Rhen is going to face Ahriman. The party is staying at an inn in Veldt. Veldt is on a mountain/plateau thingy above the ocean, and has several ledge-looking pieces of land which I can only assume are used for looking down at the waves/staring out at the sky. The dialogue in the second part is from the game; the specific way certain things were phrased has always been significant to me. If I could express everything this part of the game means to me in writing, this piece would change your life. But I am not that skilled yet and my words are deeply inadequate, so instead I'll just hope you enjoy this piece and send you off._

 _Title from one of the soundtracks in Av1_

* * *

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

The truth was that Rhen couldn't sleep for her life. She was going to fight Ahriman tomorrow. She wasn't ready. She kept trying to come up with some clever trick she could use to defeat the demon, some advantage she had that he wouldn't expect, but instead she kept thinking—

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

The fairies had told her that over and over again, like it was supposed to mean something, like somehow she was supposed to understand. Okay, she got it. _The truth_. So she shouldn't lie to fairies, whatever. It's not like she had ever tried to. Not even that one fairy, who wouldn't _move_ from the _stupid_ steps of the _stupid_ Time Temple!

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

So far, for her, the truth meant she wasn't a stinking peasant from a stinking little mountain town. Oh no, the truth could never be that simple. The truth was that she was the long-lost princess of a desolated kingdom, and her parents had been killed by Ahriman. Or her _mother_ had been killed. Her father was alive, but he had gone to hide in the woods like some pathetic—

Pathetic—

The truth was that Rhen was afraid, too. Pa had told her to remember Thais, it was her duty.

 _Duty._

She had always been the sort of person who fulfilled her responsibilities. In a small village like Clearwater, everyone had to do their part or the whole town would suffer. But it was more than that, somehow. It was about the way Ma's fingers were always stiff from sewing, sewing, sewing, but she still found it in her to do everything else Rhen needed, even though— Rhen wasn't even her real daughter, apparently, and still those hands had worked and worked, and made time to sew a new dress for Rhen to wear to the festival, and a new scarf for the winter.

Duty was about the way her father— her Pa— _Tailor_ looked at her, with full confidence in her abilities, with complete trust in her heart.

 _Her heart_. She didn't know her own heart, she didn't know how Pa could.

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

She knew a lot about where she had come from, and where she could go— she _could_ go to Clearwater, she _should_ go to Thais— maybe she could hide in the woods, like her father.

Maybe they weren't so different, after all.

She just wished she knew who she was, _what_ she was, and what she wanted. Then maybe it would all make sense. Maybe, when this quest was over, she could find a way to use the fairy dust to find _that_ — to find herself.

For now, she just needed to find some peace and quiet, some time away from her own head.

She sat up in the bed, swung her feet around to put them on the floor— the weird thing about floors in Veldt was that they were _never ever_ cold, not even a little. She pulled on her boots. She was going to take a walk, and she knew from an unfortunate experience of Pirate John's that she did not want to step on a cactus without her boots.

Warm air rushed into the inn when she opened the door. This would never happen in Clearwater, or nearly anywhere else, for that matter.

There was no moon tonight, only stars, blinking at her like she was a stranger. She had lived under them over _seventeen years_ , how could they not know her? But then, she hardly knew herself.

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth_.

Maybe the truth would only frighten her more.

She felt something, like a shift in the wind, and she reached back for her sword— _drat_ , she had left it back in the room—

It was only Te'ijal, grinning down at Rhen from her perch on a roof.

"What are you doing up there?"

The vampress grinned, and Rhen shuddered at the sight of her pointed fangs. "I could not sleep any longer. I am a vampire, I am part of the night."

"Well... don't hunt anyone. We need these people on our side."

Te'ijal laughed, in her strange, hissing way. "Of course."

Rhen kept walking, trying not to look back, and trying to ignore the fact that she was now shivering despite the heat.

Te'ijal was a strange creature, but at least she understood herself. And Elini, too, knew exactly what she wanted, unfortunate as that may be for Pirate John. Mad Marge knew she was, well, _mad_. Lars always had complete confidence in himself, Galahad was sure of his morals—

Rhen was the only lost one.

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

She saw another shape up ahead, standing near one of the mountain's edges, staring out at the sea. She was going to keep walking, but as she passed the shape turned to face her, and it was Dameon.

"Hi, Rhen," he almost whispered, so she strained to hear him even in the quiet of the desert night.

"Hi, Dameon," she said, walking up to stand beside him. "What are you doing out here?"

He turned back to face the sea. Rhen could almost hear the waves from here— but only almost. They were far, far away.

"I guess I'm just… thinking…"

She looked out at the sea— or at the sky, she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. "Me too."

She wished she could _stop_ thinking, and just _be_. But there was too much, she couldn't fit it all together in her head. And she was afraid.

"After tomorrow," Dameon said, slowly, softly, "everything will make sense."

She looked sharply at him. "How do you know that?"

She wished she could be that sure of something, of anything.

He didn't answer at first, just stared up at the cool, quiet stars. "I suppose I don't. I just… hope."

 _Hope_. It was funny, how such a small word could carry the world, and fill her with courage and— and then with doubt and fear. If she could just be sure of herself, maybe she could be braver. Maybe her task would not seem so huge and impossible.

Ahriman had killed hundreds, maybe _thousands,_ of heroes before her. He had only gotten stronger. How could _she_ ever— hope— to succeed against him?

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

Hot tears stung her eyes and she rubbed them away, hoping Dameon wouldn't see—

"Rhen? What is wrong?"

 _Everything_ , and she was not sure there was a way to fix any of it—

"Are you afraid, Rhen?

 _Yes_ — and she couldn't dry her tears fast enough, they were pouring down her face, she could not even master her own emotions, how could she save the world—

Dameon put his hand on her back, and it seemed like he was the only thing in Aia that was still, everything else trembled and shook and fell apart.

"You have nothing to fear, dear one. You will see."

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

"Dameon—" she managed through her pathetic tears, "do you know— what you— are?"

She thought he would laugh, and then she could laugh and pretend it was all nothing— but instead he was hesitating, staring down at her. "I… I…" He looked at the ground, and his voice was low but he couldn't keep the anxious quaver out of it, "I don't know, Rhen."

She cried harder, and he reached out for her.

"I... I'm someone who cares about you. I'm someone who wants you to be happy. Is that... is that enough? Rhen—" he stepped closer to hold her shaking shoulders, and softly kissed her tears with quiet lips, and then her eyelashes— "Don't cry, Rhen. I'm sorry. I wish I knew. I would tell you if I knew."

She clutched his robes in trembling fists and pressed her face into his chest. "I wish— I could know— who _I_ am—"

His gentle hands traced circles on her shoulders, and her back. "You are a hero. You save people."

"But— _why—_ "

She didn't expect an answer— _fairy dust always reveals the truth_ — but his quiet lips kissed her hair, and then her ear—

"Because you care."

His hands were stilling her trembling shoulders, and his chest absorbed her desperate sobs, until they were all out, and it didn't change anything, she still didn't have any answers, but she had him, and it was something, at least, to be sure of.

"I'm sorry— for falling apart— on you."

He rocked her slowly, and she was sure she could hear the waves now. "You always pull yourself back together."

No, he always put her back together, piece by fragmented piece.

"You have a good heart, Dameon."

She knew that he didn't believe her by the way he stared at the ground, and swallowed hard, and could only manage a low, hesitating, "Thank you."

And it was frightening, to see him so afraid, to imagine that someone she relied on so much could be so unsure of himself. But she, too, was a doubter, and— she didn't need him to believe her yet. This one, tiny truth was hers to know and to protect.

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth_.

* * *

He asked her if she was ready— no, she wasn't ready, but she didn't have a choice. She _thought_ she didn't have a choice.

He looked ready to fight the fates themselves, his gaze the same impenetrable steel it had been when she first met him, his eyes guarded as they hadn't been for a long time now.

His steps were not his own, his knees shook. When she reached out to steady him he pulled away. Where was he going?

She tried to stand resolute, she made her declarations to Ahriman and her voice did not waver.

And then _he_ walked past her.

It was only a matter of steps— stiff steps, shaking steps, not like the careful gait she knew, and then he was gone—

"Dameon! What are you doing?"

He stared at her and his eyes were not his own, either, they were dark but they had no depth, and his soft springtime voice was like dead leaves rustling in the fall— "I'm… sorry it had to end this way, sword singer."

He had not used her title in so long— her eyes were hot and now her voice wavered, "This is madness! And all because you hate your mother?"

She saw how her words stung him, and she wanted to take them back, and she wanted to shout them again and again—

The hurt in his eyes was better than the emptiness.

And now he told her, "You have a choice."

He asked her to follow him, down that darkened path he trembled to travel. He would keep her safe, there was a place just for her, there was protection and security and immortal life— she had never wanted to die. She was afraid to die.

"But," she swallowed, " _Ahriman_ is evil!"

Ahriman did not move to defend himself, he had not moved once this whole time, except now he reached for Dameon's shoulder and gripped it tightly in bony, claw-like fingers. His eyes were red and pulsing with a strange glow, his gaze was sharp and calculating. And Dameon said, in that low, dead voice, "Are you sure? How do you know that _they_ have not been lying to you?"

She was trembling, the voice that had always soothed her before now sent shivers through her, because she _wasn't_ sure, she didn't know. _They_ had never told her all the truth, they thought she was just another piece in their world-shaped puzzle, and she would fit wherever they wanted her to, wherever they needed her to, even if they had to sand down all her irregular edges—

"My father saw the truth," Dameon continued in those soft tones that were only ghosts of the ones she knew. "He knew that Ahriman was something more. The others were jealous of my father's power… power that Ahriman gave him!"

"But—" she hesitated, "does not Ahriman want to destroy the world?"

Ahriman only watched her with his pulsing red eyes, his grip still tight on Dameon's shoulder, and he didn't say a word.

"Dameon!" she was pleading. "Think clearly!"

" _No!_ " Finally the demon spoke, and his voice was harsh and it rang in her ears even after the words had stopped—

"The world will be made over into something better, something more grand."

And Rhen saw how Dameon watched Ahriman, clinging to every word, and she saw how Ahriman watched her, carefully, his gaze half obscured by his hood.

"Take his offer, sword singer. Live forever! It is the only way you will survive…"

"Forever, Rhen!" Dameon turned back to her now, dark eyes wide and almost hopeful, for a moment almost his own again— "You could live forever with me!"

"I…" Rhen swallowed, "don't know…"

Ahriman watched her with his half-hidden eyes, and behind her she could feel the eyes of everyone else. Te'ijal's eyes were red, too, like the blood she drank, and almost always partway covered by long dark eyelashes, except when they were wide with curiosity. They were wide now— what would Rhen do? She would give an answer if she had any.

Lars stared, his eyes not rolling for once, even stoic Galahad was confounded, even Marge stood still to see what would unfold.

She could join Dameon, and never die. She could watch the world that had used her so cruelly crumble away, she could build a new world from its ashes, a softer world, a warmer world.

Would there be marionbells there? Would there be midnight rainstorms, and old songs like fairy tales that refused to be forgotten, and— shy smiles after hard days, warm hands moving in circles on her back, what would happen to those things?

Would there be sunrises there, or would the sun fall with the old world?

She could fight Dameon, and then the sun might rise on the world tomorrow, but never again on her frightened, frozen heart. The trust in his eyes would haunt her— forever.

She trembled, and trembled— the world expected an answer, and she didn't have one. She had come at last to her crossroads and she still didn't know where she was going, she couldn't follow the paths she saw before her.

She remembered everything anyone had ever told her about her destiny. _Chosen one. Bring the druids to the Sun Temple. Take the Sword of Shadows. Defeat the demon. Return to Thais—_

 _Please,_ a soft voice, like autumn leaves blowing away in spring's first breeze, _choose what makes you happy._

She didn't want to fight. She didn't want to destroy. She wanted—

To sit in a quiet place and listen to a voice that soothed. She wanted to hold warm, soft hands carefully in her own. She wanted to watch dark eyes fill again with hope when they met hers.

She wanted his good heart, and now— _now_ , she needed him to believe her.

 _Fairy dust always reveals the truth._

She threw it, _all_ of it— it was the last thing anyone expected, it was the only thing she'd ever choose.

"MY EYES! _MY EYES!_ " he yelled, clutching at them with shaking hands, his trusting expression shattered— Ahriman's fingers still tightly gripped his shoulder. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"Open your eyes, Dameon!" It was a hard thing to ask, she knew. It was terrible to be in darkness, it was worse to stand blinking in the light and see just what monsters made their paths through the shadow. "Look at Ahriman and who he really is! See the truth!"

He was trembling but he listened to her— he would follow her even into the blinding light.

His face was pale, his breathing ragged, and his dark eyes wide and frightened— frightened, but finally his own, as he pulled himself away from the demon at last. "It's all so… I… Ahriman…"

"Fight him, Dameon!" she cried, she saw how Ahriman's eyes flashed beneath his hood, how he reached out to seize the druid again—

"That was fairy dust! Fairy dust always shows the truth! I know you see the truth," she said— and she saw the doubt in his dark eyes, and said again, "I _know_ you!"

He watched her with round eyes. His lips were parted, he was breathing deeply but not seeming to get enough air. "I… I don't know…"

And Ahriman clenched his claw-like hands around Dameon's arm, and spoke again in his grating voice— "Kill her, sun priest! She lies!"

 _Lies_ — she had lived in lies, she had watched them spring up around her, and crumble under their own weight, and she had wondered if she would ever know anything else. And now Dameon shook, and shook, and looked as though he might crumble as well; but in his wide, dark eyes, she saw the truth she had protected, the truth she would fight for.

"Look into your heart, Dameon," she said quietly. He was confused, she knew. Everything he had believed about himself and the world was breaking in pieces around him. But she would stand by him, she wouldn't leave him to the darkness, she would show him there was light always in himself.

"Look into _my_ heart!" she almost whispered now. If he couldn't believe himself, he might believe her— and she understood, suddenly, she was never meant to complete the puzzle on her own.

"You have the power! You are the chosen one, not I! I see it! Dameon, you are the chosen one! _I see it!_ You have the power of the sun! The power of the light! Use it on me! See that I tell the truth!"

He stared at her, his eyes two dark swirling pools, and slowly he raised a hand and held it over her heart, trembling, concentrating.

Light was timid and warm and brave enough to shine through every lie and illuminate the truth— she knew when the fear and confusion fighting in his gaze yielded at last to gentle understanding— _you have a good heart, Dameon_.

And he wasn't free yet, Ahriman still fought to control him, but he reached for her hand and she pulled him closer and they fought the demon together, with Elini and Te'ijal, and Galahad and John and Lars and Marge— all of them, it took all of them to fight, it took each piece of the puzzle to make sense of the picture.

They fought— and they won, somehow they had won, the Sword of Shadows consumed Ahriman in a thousand bright stars and— and it was over—

"Dameon! We did it!"

He stared at her, the tension in his face melting into awe, and then laughter. "I… I am free! I am free!" he cried, and reached for her—

And then the whole world was shaking, and he stumbled towards her— she caught him, and Lars was yelling—

"Come on, everyone! Let's get out of here! This place is collapsing!"

And they ran, while all of Aia tried to fall on top of them.

And when they burst out of the demon caves onto the scorching sand, into the beautiful burning bright sunlight, then she knew they had won, after all, and the truth was—

The truth was all he had told her, and she should have believed him— she did now. The truth was, she cared, and she was brave, and even wise, and everything made sense now, and they were safe and there was hope again—

And they had been so close to losing everything, and now she was crying again, and—

Dameon was kneeling in front of her, and he bent his head nearly to the ground, and pressed his lips to the toe of her boot.

"You saved me. Thank you."

She held out her hands to pull him to his feet. "I would save you every day if you needed it," she said, and she would, because the truth was—

She loved him.


	40. Freely

**_Freely_**

 _In which we may begin to understand what all those pieces are for._

* * *

He was free, at last— he had been in darkness, trapped in— in lies, the lies around him and inside him, and he hadn't even known he was a prisoner until suddenly— he wasn't, and everything was new and bright and he could breathe for the first time. And now he was running through the demon caves, trying to concentrate on not being crushed but thinking only of—

She had _saved_ him, she saved him and— he had _betrayed_ her— but she showed him the truth, and he knew how important it was to her—

There was one question which still echoed through him, one answer he couldn't see even now— _My son, have you forgiven me yet?_

There were falling rocks and shouting all around him, but he remembered still— she had _killed_ his father, there had been screaming, and blood, and he'd watched with young, frightened eyes while his world ended—

She was his _mother_ , he remembered pressing his face into her white robes, and feeling safe—

She had betrayed him.

He cast an earth shield over the party, the rocks were raining down on them, and still he remembered, he had not forgotten what his mother had done.

And now— he had betrayed Rhen. It was, apparently, a family tradition.

He realized finally, it had started with his father. His father had betrayed them, and his mother could not forgive it. She had to kill him, Rhen had said, to save countless men, women, and children.

Dameon remembered one man, struggling for his life on a cold stone floor. He remembered a woman with frightening eyes, and red stains trailing down a white dress. He remembered one lonely little child, who carried loss in his veins, like a poison, and there was no cure.

Betrayal like that was— unforgivable. He would be chained to it all his life.

He knew what this meant for him. He must pay for what he had done to Rhen. She would not suffer as he had— as his family had. He would let her take her revenge, he would surrender to justice. He would give freely what was required.

They burst into the light, suddenly— it had never seemed so beautiful before, and he knew it was not because it had changed while he was gone, but because _he_ had changed, he was free, Rhen had saved him.

The others were celebrating, John had Elini in his arms, Lars and Te'ijal were laughing, even Galahad and Marge were smiling— Rhen had tears in her eyes.

She had snatched him out of the hands of demons, demons that walked the waking world and— the demons in himself. He owed her everything; he could give only his soul. He kneeled on the ground in front of her, and kissed one of her feet— those feet that had gone so far for him, so many times.

"You saved me. Thank you."

She was moving to help him up— she was always lifting him higher. "I would save you every day if you needed it."

He ignored her outstretched hands, pressed himself into the sand. "I betrayed you. All I have is yours."

"I— Dameon—"

"You do not have to suffer," he said quickly. "Take your revenge. Banish me. Enslave me. Do what you must. My life is yours."

She was silent. He could not bring himself to look at her face. The anger would be horrible, the hurt would be— so much worse.

But when she spoke, her voice was soft. "I give your life back to you. Live happily, Dameon."

"Rhen—" he swallowed. It was not in her nature, to think of herself. She would always take the hit, and the idea that she would hurt for him, after what he'd done— he could not let her. "Please. _Please_ do not suffer. I beg you, do what you want, for _once_ , and not what you think you must."

"I want you to be happy."

He could not understand her— he had _betrayed_ her, for a grudge that had nothing to do with her, for a lie. "How can I live happily, when I have wronged you?"

She crouched down next to him, put her hand on his shoulder. He was too ashamed to raise his head.

"I am a traitor too," she told him quietly. "I almost joined you."

"Rhen—" the sand burned his knees, and his hands, like his words burned his throat, " _I_ asked you to choose. _I_ made the offer. _I_ am the traitor."

"You were confused."

He swallowed hard. Everyone had stopped celebrating, he could feel their eyes on him— but he could not hold back the truth anymore, he would not stop its flow, he would not be a prisoner any longer.

"I hurt you. You will suffer because of what I did. _Please_ , make it right. Do what you want. Choose peace."

But she only moved her hands to cover his, so that he had to look at them, at how little and calloused they were, calloused from being worn down, repeatedly— he did not want to be one of the things that wore her down.

"I am not hurt, Dameon. I will not suffer. I want to forgive you. I _am_ choosing peace."

Her voice was like water, soft and unrelenting, and he was drowning. "I don't— understand—"

She lifted his chin, and made him look at her— he couldn't breath, and there was no anger in her face, only something sad and gentle.

"I forgive you."

"No—"

" _I forgive you._ "

"You must take revenge—"

" _No_." Her voice was fierce, but her eyes were mild, like the midnight rain calling softly to the tiny growing things— why was she doing this? "I forgive you."

He was going to choke on the huge feeling that was rising up in him— she had saved him, she wanted to _forgive_ him—

"I do not— deserve it—"

"I don't care." Her eyes were shining now, her breath was hot on his face— she _was_ hurting, he only wanted her to have peace—

" _Please—_ "

"I _forgive_ you."

"You can't—" the words caught in his throat. She could do anything, but this—

"I do," she said lowly, her gaze piercing him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, he knew the rules, he had studied them all his life. He had done wrong and now he must pay.

"I forgive you,"

He was trembling like the demons caves had, all he had known was falling apart under the weight of her words.

"I forgive you."

She whispered it to him, he was in pieces, she was destroying him—

" _I_ _forgive you_."

And he cried, the tears flowed out of the broken places of his soul, and Lars rolled his eyes and Marge sneered, Galahad pointedly looked away while Te'ijal watched with growing amusement, and still Dameon couldn't stop. Rhen wrapped her arms around him and he wept out every feeling into her sturdy shoulders. He was wretched, and she— saved him, over and over.

He knew how it felt to lose everything, he remembered the darkness and the ache. He had memorized the question, _that_ question.

But now, finally, he was learning the answer.


	41. A Home

**_A Home_**

 _Today is the 2 year anniversary of when the first of these oneshots was posted, which makes it a fitting time to share this piece because Rhen's Quest (the actual quest, not including the schooling part) covers a time period of about 2-3 years (I like to say about 2.5 for reasons which I will gladly tell you if you ask)._

 _We have seen Dameon defeat his demons; let's see how Rhen handles hers._

* * *

She had destroyed the demon, the world was safe, but her heart still pounded and her legs shook. Dameon stood beside her with his hand on her back, he could steady her but he could not fight this battle with her. There was still one more enemy for Rhen, and Rhen only: a destiny she did not understand, a fate she was afraid to follow, a faceless, voiceless foe that took the shape of a bent old woman with a question.

"Which path will you take, sword singer?"

Rhen asked for time; the Oracle nodded kindly, but her blue eyes were piercing.

And Rhen was left alone to think.

Elini and John were going to Veldt; they invited her to visit, she would always be welcome in their house. Elini even promised she could sleep in a guest room, and not at the inn.

Rhen didn't want a guest room. She wanted—

A home.

Te'ijal was going back to Ghed'ahre, and dragging Galahad along. She promised Rhen a room, too, and Galahad promised her garlic and a stake. No one would bother her in Ghed'ahre.

How lonely that would be. How she would miss the sun!

Lars was returning to the Eastern Isle, Marge to the Sour Ale Tavern. Rhen couldn't bear the thought of either.

She knew what the Oracle wanted. She knew what her parents wanted. But _Rhen_ wanted— to run away. Like her father had. Her bones were tired, her heart was afraid.

Devin came to her, and he had the same weary slump in his shoulders she had noticed in herself lately, the same numb look in his eyes. "If you decide not to return to Thais, you can have my cabin in the Wildwoods," he told her, "and I will go in your place."

She smiled gratefully at him. He smiled, too, and that was also like hers, a crooked, halfway smile. He clapped a heavy hand to her shoulder. "I do not want to return to Thais," he continued sadly. "Too many memories."

He had too many, she had too few. In a way it was all the same.

He straightened, unexpectedly, and the embers in his eyes that had seemed all burnt out sparked timidly to life for one small moment, and he said solemnly, "But if I must return to Thais as king, I will."

She looked down, because her throat was tight and her nose was hot, and then she hugged him, and hid her face in his sturdy chest that was so much like Pa's, and she didn't cry, she only shook, and she wondered— was Ma like Alicia? Would she ever know?

 _You do not have to say anything_ , Pa had told her, when she talked of this with him. _You will always be my little girl_.

But now was the time for speaking, now she had to say— _something_.

She pulled away, and thanked Devin for the offer, and he hesitated and kissed her forehead and she wondered if he had ever kissed Alicia's forehead. And then he left her to think again.

She could return to Clearwater, too. She had been a child there, she was still a child in some ways. She could be Pa's little girl, and Ma's dear, dear daughter, and forget any of this had ever happened. She could forget— Ghalarah, and the months spent barefoot and in rags. She could forget she'd ever learned to fight, ever _had_ to fight, she could forget Thais and Veldt and Thornkeep and even Sedona, with its bustling streets and endless possibilities—

And— and— Eddy, could she forget him, and his innocent hope in a world that had only ever failed him? Could she forget Terlin, with her straight back and her proud dignity in spite of all she had suffered? And— Theodore, and Tiny, and the way they believed in her, and Elini, and Te'ijal and John and— and— all of them, and— and—

She swallowed. And— Dameon, she had known before she started that she couldn't forget him, he was the piece of her life that made the rest make sense. He was like—

Home, when she was lost.

She looked for him, instinctively, and found him beside Talia. They spoke in low voices together. Dameon was hesitating, Talia stood looking astounded and relieved, and tears misted both of their identical dark eyes.

Rhen caught her breath as Dameon caught his mother up in a hug— a quick hug, a stiff hug, more of a pat on the back really, but all the same— Rhen had seen so many things fall apart, it was rare to watch them fall together again.

She didn't know if going back to Clearwater would feel like falling together or falling apart. She _wasn't_ a child in a lot of ways, she had seen so much, she had learned and forgotten and remembered and grown, she couldn't fit in the same spaces she once had. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

 _Remember Thais,_ Pa had told her. _It is your duty_.

Dameon saw her watching him, and he smiled softly at her. He gestured at his mother and the smile didn't fade, and Rhen understood, and smiled too.

Talia turned and saw her also, and greeted her with a smile that was just as soft if perhaps a bit more solemn.

"Chosen one," she began fondly, as she approached, "I have much to thank you for. You have rid the world of a great evil."

Rhen looked away. "I have only done my— duty."

"No," Talia said, stopping in front of her. "You have done much, much more than any of us should have ever asked." The priestess took Rhen's hand and pressed it between her own. "May you find a meaningful life, sword singer."

Rhen tried to smile, and wondered if there was any meaning left in Aia, and then Talia, too, left her to think.

She didn't want to think. Her legs were still shaking, she wasn't ready.

It didn't surprise her when Dameon came to her. It was just nature, like the waves returning to the shore, or the sand to the sea. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at her with his dark brown eyes and his serious little frown. And it was nice, to not have to answer any more questions, to not pretend she wasn't lost. He would never ask her to be anything but herself.

He put a hand on her elbow, to steady her, and said softly, so softly, for only her to hear, "You have a hard decision to make."

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around herself. He watched her, with that look in his eyes like he might fight the fates. "I wish I could go with you," he said hoarsely, and then he swallowed, and glanced at the Oracle, and finished quietly, "but my duty is here."

Her throat was tight again— she could live alone with him, and never be lonely. They could run from everything, from all of it, and never look back.

"Can you not come with me?"

She could show him the paths she had walked as a child, they would be new through his eyes, she could know them again for the first time. After all that darkness, there could be light at last.

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and stared down at her with those deep brown eyes. "I am an immortal bound to the sun, my love. The changes over time…" he caught his breath, and his eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly trapped in her hands, "they would only hurt us in the end. I could not bear to watch you grow old, while I remained young."

There were hot tears stinging her eyes, but she would not let them fall. If she did, she wasn't sure she'd ever find the strength to stop them. "How sad."

She looked away, turned to go— anywhere, she would go anywhere, it could hardly matter anymore. There was nothing left for her in this world she had protected, there would be no peace in the woods, no laughter in her childhood home. It was all emptiness.

"Rhen—" Dameon said in that mild voice, like the sea in the morning, calling her back to him. She turned again and found his eyes— deep and dark and steady. She had seen him sometimes lost in chaos, struggling to swim. Now she was the storm, and he was the anchor.

"Rhen, I tried to tell you before, but I— I didn't understand it. But you should know, I— I—" he stopped, and started over. "You taught me that... love… gives, and love forgives, and _you_ are full of love, and I…" He swallowed, he swallowed down all the bitterness of his years, all the hurt, all the blinding fear, and what came out was this: "I love you."

She cried, the tears fell and she couldn't stop them, and he reached out and wrapped his arms around her. His robes were soft like his voice as he murmured to her, "I know our... our destinies—" he choked on the word the same way she had, so many times— "are separate. I know we cannot be together—"

She let out a pathetic squeak and he held her closer, and she hid herself in his broad chest— if she went to the woods she might have straw to lay her head on, if she went to Clearwater she would have wool. There would be pillows in Thais— she would rather rest here than on a hundred pillows. And those flower petal lips whispered gently in her ear, "But I love you anyway. I— will love you forever. Remember that, Rhen. No matter what you choose or where you go, you are a hero to me, and— I love you."

And she remembered. She remembered what it was to be in the dark and see a light, she remembered how it felt to be hopeless and find a dream, and she knew what she would do, what she _chose_ to do. Though she trembled, she would be brave.

Wasn't that how every good thing grew?

She let her tears dry on Dameon's robes, and her trembling cease in his arms, and then she squeezed him tightly, and breathed deeply— and she let him go, maybe for the last time. It _had_ to be the last time, she couldn't do it again.

She turned abruptly and walked to the Oracle.

"Have you decided your fate?" the seer of all asked. And her eyes— were just eyes, pale blue and tired. There was nothing awful about her, nothing fearsome. She was just old, and weary, and powerless to stop Rhen from choosing whatever she would.

And still, Rhen chose courage. She would not be defined by fear. She had been around the world and learned of things that changed and those that stayed the same, and in all her adventures found one difference only: _choice_.

"You will return to Thais and become Queen?"

"Yes," Rhen said. "I do not want to, but I suppose I must." She kept her jaw firm, and her back straight, and the weight of her sword was a balance and not a burden. _Not a burden._

The Oracle's eyes twinkled. "Wise decision, child."

What was wisdom? All Rhen knew was perseverance and the importance of the truth.

She looked back— she didn't mean to but she did. "If only Dameon could come with me…"

She meant to keep her eyes down when she heard his soft voice, "The fates are cruel."

She meant to, but instead she stared at his mouth and tried to memorize the way it moved in a moment, before it was too late, before she had to leave him here alone in the cold stone shrine— she hadn't realized, when she began, that this would be the end of everything.

The Oracle was pitiless enough to smile. "Sun priest," she said, with all her horrible solemnity, "would you like to be removed of your duties so you can escort the young queen back to Thais?"

Rhen stared, feeling suddenly wildly hopeful, like sparks lived in her veins, before they burned to ashes— then he would die. She could not ask for that sacrifice, she could not ask him to face that last inevitability, which had already caused him so much anguish—

"You would let me do such a thing?" Dameon cried, his eyebrows two arches, his mouth a gaping _o_. "But who would take my place?"

The Oracle shrugged. "The stone-faced, blue-haired one that followed the Dreamer here."

"I will do it in an instant!"

"But Dameon," Rhen protested, her pulse racing— this wasn't real, this couldn't be real— "you will not be immortal anymore!"

He smiled, and his eyes sparkled, in the middle of it all. "It is okay, dear one. I would give it up for you."

 _For her_ — she had so often been among those who would take everything from her, she had lost herself more times than she could count, but Devin was agreeing to take Dameon's place, and he was laughing and Talia was laughing and it was done, it was real, and now Rhen knew what it was to be given the stars.

And she was laughing, somehow. She ran to Dameon, and jumped into his arms, not for the last time—

He caught her around the waist, and spun her around and around and looked up at her with his dark eyes, "Are you ready to meet your destiny?"

She kissed him, and kissed him— she could never have memorized his mouth, it was too gentle to hold in her mind for a moment.

"With you?" She laughed, her fear melting in his arms like snow in the spring, her heart taking strength in his—

 _Forever,_ echoing through the finite years.

"Yes!"


	42. Again

**_Again_**

 _Welcome to the fluffiest oneshot on the internet. I hope you have scheduled your dental appointments. Also if you have not reread the other pieces before this point, I really would strongly recommend it, because there are a lot of references. But this is a oneshot and it will make sense on its own as well, so if you really must skip rereading, I forgive you._

 _Begins as Rhen and Dameon are arriving in Thais to speak to the consort. Once again I've used tons of lines from Aveyond; I'm a huge fan._

* * *

He had been empty, once. It was strange to recall now, with his arms full of _Rhen_.

She clung tightly to him every moment that she could, as if afraid he might disappear from her. But he would have to be dragged away from her, he would fight every step. She had lost so much already. He would stand by her side if it killed him.

In a way, it already had. And he had never felt lighter.

He clung to her, too. He had left behind everything that was familiar, he followed her now to a wild land, a devastated land. She was all he knew.

She held his hand as they approached the consort, and squeezed his fingers as she announced her title and displayed the little golden band that had led her to all of this.

"This was my mother's ring. I believe you have been waiting for me."

The consort was elated, "The princess heir!" he gasped, and then, "Er, what is your name, your majesty?"

She drew herself up, and Dameon remembered how royal she had seemed when she confronted that old toad who captured Tiny, and the impressive dignity of her composure before the Mountain King and the Snow Queen. "Rhen… just Rhen."

"Chancellor!" the consort cried. "Ring the bell! Our princess has come home!" And the chancellor ran to do it, they could hear the ringing even from the throne room. "Princess," the consort continued, "I shall prepare for your coronation. It would be best if you got some rest. You can use the master bedroom if you desire."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Rhen protested, her grip tightening on Dameon's hand so he felt her nails against his skin. He stepped closer to her protectively. "I am not ready for any of this!"

"Your highness, I do not understand," the man babbled.

"It's okay, Rhen," Dameon said as softly as he could, pressing her little hand between both of his. She looked up at him with frightened eyes and he tried to smile for her. "I will be there," he promised. "We can do this together."

It was all he knew, but maybe… maybe, it was enough.

"See, you will be fine," the consort said with a note of relief in his voice. And then, "Oh! We must find a husband for you. I know at least five princes who would die to meet you!"

Suddenly Dameon's stomach was a hard knot, and his heart was shriveling in his ribcage, and then—

"This is a nightmare," Rhen huffed. "I do not want to marry a prince."

And if Dameon had lived a thousand times as long as any druid before him, he never could have prepared for the way Rhen's face flushed in the next moment, or how she jabbed her little finger at him and declared with all her artless Rhenly certainty, "I want to marry _him!_ "

She could have anyone, someone stable, someone who knew the kingdom— a _prince_ — she could refuse everyone and rule herself, she was sovereign, she was all Thais had. But she wanted— he could not believe her, he could only babble—

"You want to marry _me?_ "

She was as perfectly red as a pomegranate, but she met his gaze with her wild violet eyes, not frightened anymore, and she said, "Yes _._ "

He couldn't believe her, but he _believed_ her, and he wanted to laugh and dance and show her that _she_ could also believe _him_ , and what he said was, "Me too!"

And then he blushed and felt silly but mostly euphoric, and he tried again to express himself, "I mean... I want to marry _you!_ "

She beamed up at him and her pink lips parted in the middle and he was going to kiss her, but then the consort was between them, waving his hands and saying, "Then it's settled! We shall have a royal wedding and coronation!" And before Dameon could begin to comprehend a word of that the consort had gasped and grabbed his arm and was pulling him away, "Oh no! The two of you are not allowed to see each other the day before the wedding! Sir, you must come with me."

Dameon resisted at first— he couldn't leave Rhen, he saw the panic in her eyes, but then he realized: she was tired, she had been through so much lately, she needed rest, and she wouldn't get it if they kept fighting. It was time for surrender. It was time to trust this strange new world they had walked into together— and they _would_ be together, and that was enough.

"Do not worry, Rhen. I will be okay," he said as she watched him with wide eyes. "You had best go and get some sleep. I will see you tomorrow."

She trusted him, and that would always be miraculous to his heart, and she turned to follow a maid up a wide set of stairs. And he turned and followed the consort out to the courtyard.

The bell still rang from the tower— he had lost track of the sound in his wild exultation, but he heard it now, and he saw it in the eyes of the people who gathered below it, eyes that had been suspicious and frightened when he saw them before, eyes that were filled now with hope.

He knew how that felt, and he cried with them as they rejoiced for the end of their long desolation.

"Citizens!" the consort called, and they all turned to hear him. "The demon is dead, and our princess has returned to us! Tomorrow she will marry this man," he raised Dameon's arm in the air, "and be crowned our Queen!"

The people cheered and Dameon began to feel the weight of what he had agreed to— he felt it, but it was no burden. He would carry it for Rhen. He could only be overjoyed.

And then there were a thousand questions to answer, all at once— who should be invited to the ceremony, what fabrics should they use for Rhen's dress, and what flowers should they have— Dameon had never known there was so much to a wedding, he had never imagined _he_ would have a wedding. He had always believed he would live eternally alone.

He was a child still, he was small and naive in a world bursting with truth to learn, and he was afraid— after _all_ of that, fear still lived in the spaces between his heartbeats. But he knew that a moment with a person like Rhen was worth every price he could pay.

He asked for marionbells and white daisies, those were the flowers she liked best. They showed him the fabrics and he picked the softest, lightest ones for her dress, and he hoped they didn't itch and they didn't hinder her, _nothing_ would ever hold her back again.

And then he tried to go back to the dragon, to get the others— but the consort wouldn't let him, and neither would the guards, neither would anyone in the whole confounded city—

"You can't leave now!"

"You must stay, there is too much that could happen to you."

"Please do not go, sir."

"But I— I—" he blinked at them, he saw the fear in their eyes and he remembered how they had lost their king before. But he remembered, too, how Rhen had lost her childhood, he remembered how lonely, how broken, she had been. "I'm sorry," he said, as he pulled away from them, "but I must go. Rhen will want her friends here—"

 _"Wait!"_ A guard stepped forward, blocking his path. Would no one let him through? "Wait, sir. You likely do not remember me, but we… we have met before." He pulled off his helmet, and there _was_ something familiar about his face, though Dameon could not place it. "I... I detained the princess, once, when she first travelled here." He hung his head in shame, and Dameon thought he recognized his voice now. "I did not know then who she was, or what she would do for us. Please," he looked up now, earnestly, "allow me to prove my loyalty to her. Let me go."

Dameon stared at the man, and then said softly, solemnly, "You don't have anything to prove." He knew what it was to make a mistake, he had struggled with that burden all his life. He knew what Rhen would do. "She has already forgiven you."

The guard's gaze did not falter. "I want to serve the princess, in whatever way I can."

Dameon couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Me too," he said. "Very well, you may go, and I'll stay."

The guard smiled too, and he looked younger now, lighter. "Thank you, sir!" He turned to go, and he was already almost across the courtyard but there was one more thing, and Dameon called after him—

"Can you get her parents also?"

The guard turned back, looking confused, and Dameon stammered, "Her parents. Her— the people who raised her. Tailor Darzon and—"

Suddenly he was being hugged, and he still wasn't sure what to do with things like that and he felt himself stiffen, but thankfully the guard pulled away quickly, smiling sheepishly. "Yes. Yes, it would be my honor. We have thought Tailor dead these many years. He— he was my brother."

Dameon felt the familiar ache in his heart— familiar, but entirely different from before. This was not the ache of all the empty spaces that used to hold the things he had lost. This was like... understanding. "He lives. He is a shoemaker in Clearwater."

"I will bring him and all the princess's associates! Thank you, sir! Thank you!"

And Dameon didn't know what he was being thanked for anymore, but Rhen had taught him to smile at absurdities and to be kind, so he smiled and thanked the guard, too.

And then.

And then.

There were a thousand choices to make, a thousand tasks to complete, and they kept trying to measure him for whatever ridiculous costume kings were supposed to wear, and he only wanted to laugh and cry and look for Rhen— she was asleep, everyone kept assuring him that she was safe, but he just wanted to see her.

And they kept trying to send him to bed, too, but he couldn't imagine sleeping. He was already in a dream.

It rained gently that night, and it seemed the water washed away the gray and left the streets shining. Dameon and the people of Thais planned all through it, through the night and into the morning, and Dameon only knew it was morning because the windows glowed with the orange light of dawn. It hardly felt real. This new world was softer than the one he knew before, it was bright, and warm, and sparkling and strange— and he was trembling, and the people were starting to gather in the throne room and they ushered him to the dais and asked him to _stand_.

The guard arrived with the others, and Dameon watched them walk in. John came first, his hair wild and windswept and his clothes ragged. He would never change, and there was something reassuring in that. Elini followed close behind, and then Lars, and Te'ijal, with her arm looped through Galahad's, and even Marge was there, scowling and kicking anyone who got too close to her— and nothing could have been more perfect.

Rhen's mother came next. She stood near the front of the room, and her eyes asked him all the questions a mother should ask a man before letting him marry her daughter, and it felt so _normal_ and so strange and he wanted to tell her everything but he could only stand and wait, and wait—

He would wait a thousand lifetimes for Rhen if he had to, but his heart was pounding fast and the room was spinning. What if she changed her mind? What if— what if she left? He had been left behind before, he did not know if he could survive it again. His stomach was clenching and he was going to be sick—

And he remembered, too, how she had been abandoned, how the world had left her empty after she had only left it warmth, and he stood and waited for her even if she chose not to come. He shook in his place but he would not move, he would be there for her if she looked for him.

He hoped she looked for him.

And then.

And then.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity, a whisper racing through the crowd, " _The princess is awake!_ " And the two heavy doors where opening, and there was Tailor, and there—

 _There_ , was Rhen, looking up at him with those fierce eyes and blushing pink like the sky when the sun returned to it, and Dameon cried and didn't care that all the world knew.

She moved as easily in her dress as she ever had in her armor, as lightly, as softly, as surely as a tiger, but still she tripped on the way up the steps— she tripped, and he caught her, and then she laughed that explosive laugh and he was confounded utterly but he laughed, too. She brushed away his tears, and then she held his hands and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs; he had been a fool, to ever doubt she would come back for him. She always came, it wasn't the first time, it would not be the last.

The chancellor was saying something— he said a lot of things, about life and death and the Goddess, but Dameon wasn't sure, really, he could hardly hear over the sound of the smile on Rhen's face. Her happiness was infinitely more beautiful than anything even the goddess of eloquence herself could say.

"Rhen Pendragon," the chancellor said, and she turned her head to look at him and Dameon looked, too, "will you take Dameon Maurva to be your husband and king?"

"Aye!" she said immediately, incredibly, miraculously, before Dameon could begin to be afraid, and her eyes were shining like the lights of heaven lived in them, and her smile was soft and— he wanted to kiss her. When was the part where he kissed her?

"And Dameon Maurva, will you take Rhen Pendragon to be your wife and queen?"

 _Wife_. He had never dreamed of being married, of existing like that with someone, with _Rhen_. He was so full, in all the places that had so long been empty— he was going to cry again.

Instead he said "Aye," and he watched the way her face glowed in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows— the beautiful, wonderful sunlight— and now he really was crying, and she was pink like a marionbell and here— here was the part where he kissed her, softly pressing his lips to her small ones, and then gasping when she took his waist and dipped him— and then she kissed him again and the only part of his name he remembered was _Pendragon_ —

They were a family now, safe and whole and happy, he belonged to her and home was that not-space between their arms.

The chancellor crowned them, too, and Dameon felt Rhen's fingers squeeze his hand and he squeezed hers. They would do this together.

Rhen's crown had little flowers engraved in the band, and it sparkled with diamonds and sapphires and— Dameon didn't know all the gemstone names, really, but he knew that Rhen shimmered like the sea, and glowed like the sunrise, and her eyes— those deep violet eyes, that had swallowed all the darkness— her eyes still had the courage to shine. She was beautiful, but that wasn't what made his chest ache.

"What are you looking at?" she whispered, tilting her head up and watching him with those violet eyes like the rain calling to the tiny growing things. Dameon blinked, and tried to catch his breath, which he had lost somehow— the guards were clearing the floor for the ball, the servants were setting out tables and meats and cheeses and a hundred desserts, the world was moving all around him but he stood still, he didn't want to leave this moment.

"I— I am looking at you," he said, and she blushed, which was as charming as ever, and then she cast her eyes down, which squeezed his heart.

He brushed her freckled cheek, and stroked her hair— it was loose, it curled and tumbled around her face and down her back. And he had not forgotten, he knew that it was too soft to kiss, so he only stroked it, and his chest hurt.

"You are so brave, Rhen. You amaze me."

She scuffed the ground with her foot, and her dress rustled softly. "I'm not alone," she said. "I have you."

He smiled without meaning to, and took her little hand in his, and kissed her dear calloused knuckles. "It is an honor to be beside you."

And now she looked up at him, and smiled, and kissed his jaw, and he held her close and couldn't believe he was really here, and she was really here, and this was real, he had _married_ her. And now people were trying to congratulate them and ask if they'd tried the chocolate, and Rhen's mother was telling him exactly how he must treat her daughter— Rhen was groaning in protest, but Dameon was clinging to every word, he had never thought he would get to hear that lecture. And Tailor was telling him to just call him Pa, Dameon had never called _anyone_ Pa, he couldn't believe that privilege belonged to him.

Elini asked Rhen how many she would have, and Dameon didn't know if she meant husbands or children, but _children_ — he would have the chance to be a father, too, and that was terrifying and wonderful, and he felt lightheaded. Rhen rested an arm around his waist and squeezed, and she let him lean on her.

John told him to "take care of the lass," and Galahad began a lecture that would probably have eventually concluded with something like the duties of marriage or how to run a kingdom or the like, but Dameon never found out because Te'ijal interrupted and told him if he really wanted Rhen's affection he must not forget to tell her how he much he truly hated her. And of course, if he wanted to reinforce the point, he also must occasionally run away as "Crumpet" always did. Lars rolled his eyes at this, and told him not to listen to Te'ijal, idiot, which was probably the most sound advice ever given. And Marge didn't say a word, but she punched his arm and bared her teeth in what was almost a smile, and Dameon smiled back and Rhen shivered and pressed herself against his side and he let her lean on him— it would always be an honor.

And there were more people with advice, and a lot of food to try, and then there was dancing— he got to dance with her. He still didn't know where his feet were supposed to go, but he held her close and they swayed slowly as the musicians played an arrangement of that old sunrise lullaby Rhen loved so much.

Finally it was just her, and just him, and he could tell her what he had been waiting to tell her— he had a small gift, he had been waiting to give it to her forever. Since last night, and last night was a lifetime ago.

"I have something for you," he said softly, shyly.

She looked up at him with a sly smile. "Oh? I hope it's not another chocolate."

He laughed gently, and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his guardian ring. Or what used to be his guardian ring; the jeweler had shaped it into an earring, the perfect size for Rhen's round little ear. He hadn't worn it for— years, he had been so angry and hurt, he had rejected its protection because it reminded him of his mother. But now— now the hurt was just an ache, and the shadowy memories of what used to be paled before the light of what could be. The sun would always rise again, he was learning. And it was okay, he was okay, he was going to heal.

He held out the earring for Rhen to see, and was delighted with the way it sparkled in the light. Like her eyes.

"Dameon," she breathed, watching it glimmer.

"Do you— do you like it?"

"I do. You made it into an earring!" she laughed, and took it from him. Then she grinned and raised her arched eyebrows. "I've never been so happy to not get chocolate."

He laughed again, and felt warm in his gut. "I wasn't sure— I know you don't like rings, but I wanted you to have something to remember that I will be here for you." Even when it was dark. Even when it hurt. "And this— this will protect you, and when you wear it I can always find you, if you need me—" he was babbling now, but she was still watching him, she was still taking in every word, like it was important. "Also it— it goes by your ear because I want you to know I'll be there to listen, no matter what." He took a shaking breath, he wanted to tell her so much more, about how grateful he was for her friendship, and how much he admired her courage, how he had learned from her, how she had saved him— there was too much, and he didn't know how to say it all. But he was learning where to start. "I— I love you, Rhen."

The word was still strange in his mouth, strange, and wonderful. It was wonderful that he could say it again and only feel happy, it would never cease to be miraculous.

She smiled up at him, and put the earring in her ear; it twinkled there like a tiny star that was finally home.

"I— I'd like to give you something, too," she said, and then she pulled off her sigma ring, and slipped it on to his pinky— that was the only finger it would fit.

"Thank you for taking this responsibility with me. It's more than anyone should ever ask of another person. I wish— I wish I could give you an easier life—"

"Rhen— Rhen—" he pulled her close, stroked her hair. The musicians were playing a new song now, the waltz his parents had danced to so often, and he only felt— full. 'You have given me everything. I wouldn't be here without you." He paused to press his lips to her brow; it was very important. "You're my hero. Life with you is— the best thing that could ever happen to me. I love you."

He had never said the word so many times in one day, it was making him dizzy, and the world seemed enchanted, and he was in bliss.

Rhen smiled up at him, a bright smile like the crescent moon. Then she stood on her tiptoes, and pulled his head down near hers, and said in a low voice, "I'd like to kiss you senseless."

He couldn't believe he had ever tried not to laugh at her jokes, he had been a fool. But he laughed now, and she laughed too and he felt it in his chest, like fluttering fairy wings. He wanted to cry, or sing, but his heart was in his throat and all he could do was hold her. He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed in the space between them.

"Please do."

She gave him a crooked grin, and really, really that was all she had to do, if he had ever had any sense to begin with it was now gone completely. And she was leaning closer, and her long eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes too— he was learning to trust her. Her lips were gentle on his, her hands shook at the back of his neck. He cradled her head, and clung to her waist, and he was shaking, too, they trembled because they were small and overflowing.

"Dameon," she murmured, pulling back just slightly, so her breath still tickled his chin. "I love you. I love you so much. I—I didn't know I could— feel this way."

Her voice was quavering. She took a long breath and then she cried, and he held her close and kissed the tears off her face, and he knew it was the single most important thing he could ever do.

And all that emptiness, those spaces between his heartbeats, the parts of Rhen the world had tried to desolate— all of it, all of it was filled with that word Rhen had used. It spilled out of the places that had been broken, it made abundance where there had been none, it made healing where only hurt had existed. And strangely, astoundingly, wonderfully—

It even made joy again.


	43. Golden

**_Golden_**

 _Here is the end of the story of how Rhen Pendragon and Dameon Maurva fell in love, which is really the beginning of their story, and one day I will write a whole other collection for that and you will see what I mean, but for now I hope you've enjoyed these pieces so far, and that you enjoy this last hurrah before the start of everything._

 _Mostly introspective, lots of fluff. The plot part begin towards the end of their wedding day:)_

* * *

She was going to hate Thais, she knew it. She had seen the emptiness in the eyes of all the people, she had felt it settling heavily in her heart. She had lost her mother in this city, she had lost everything here. Thais was a place of endings.

But today—

Today she remembered the beginning.

He was blindingly brilliant, the first time she saw him. She hadn't been able to see where her feet were going, and she'd tripped up the stairs. He had caught her, and since then she had fallen for him every time.

He had been sad, in those days. She remembered, it had been the second thing about him that struck her. His perpetual pout, and the way his eyes refused to meet hers— until they did, and then he'd smiled.

She knew now he had been in a deep darkness, the kind that came from sorrow, and hopelessness, the kind that came from fighting and struggling against all the world— oh, how well she knew that darkness, how well she knew the despair that came with it. But still he had smiled for her. How was that possible?

And now he was holding her close, so close, so close she could hardly remember what empty space felt like, and so close she could see the gold in his brown eyes, which met hers freely now— which met hers, and filled with tears.

"Dameon," she murmured into his collarbone— she couldn't reach any higher, even standing on the tips of her toes. "You're crying again. What's wrong?"

He cried so easily today. All she had done was look at him and now he was crying, and if she wasn't careful _she_ would cry too, and then they would both be just one big teary mess.

 _One_ — they were together now, despite everything. In a way he really had fought the fates for her. He stood between her and the lonesome destiny she'd feared was hers like a stone wall. Except he was soft and warm and nothing like a stone, unless the rocks could weep now, and wept often.

He laughed at her question— or sobbed. "I'm so happy, Rhen. I'm so happy, I don't know what to do with it all."

She smiled— after everything, she smiled, she looked up at him and thought of the way the light had spilled over the tops of the mountains every morning when she was a small child, and how it swept away every shadow after even the longest winter nights, and how the spring flowers always opened their faces to the world again as it spread over them.

The people of Thais— their eyes were filled with joy now. And Pa was there, smiling and laughing with friends he hadn't seen since she was born, and Ma was there and her eyes were full of twinkling. And Rhen— was filled too.

She had expected to be tired at the end of it, but instead she felt light and peaceful and she was only sleepy. Dameon gathered her up in his arms, and this time he carried her up the stairs. His heart beat out a careful rhythm under her ear, and she could feel it in her chest like she had two hearts, hers and his.

 _Two_ — there were two of them now, he promised with his dark eyes that she wouldn't face the future alone.

"Rhen," he said gently, his breath rustling her hair, "why are you trembling, my love?"

She _was_ trembling, she realized, and it was because—

After everything—

After all of it—

"I... I feel so…." She shook her head, and pressed her ear closer to his chest so his heartbeat enveloped her. "Dameon, what is the opposite of solitude?"

He was quiet for a moment, the sort of quiet that meant he was taking her seriously, and then he said softly, certainly, "A friend."

And that was why, after everything. She had lost her whole world and then she had found him and he planted hope in her bones again.

He carried her to Alicia's room— _her_ room, now. He carried her past the bookshelves Alicia had kept— _The Stoneheart Saga, Adventures of Ajo, The Art of the Sword_ — Alicia had loved danger and excitement and daring deeds.

She had also loved soft things, simple things, like wildflowers— Rhen knew, because of the little vase sitting on the nightstand. It was filled with the dried stems of what might have been daisies and maybe heather. It was hard to tell now, the flowers had been dead so long.

But Rhen knew about flowers; they would bloom again when spring came. And spring _would_ come, at last, after nearly two decades of desolation.

Rhen loved a soft thing, too. A gentle spring with golden eyes and flower petal lips— she was becoming a poet, and a bad one. It was time to sleep.

Dameon laid her carefully on the bed. She held his neck a moment longer, keeping his ear near her mouth, and whispered, "Dameon, let's— let's fill the vase with fresh flowers tomorrow."

"The vase?" he repeated, his eyebrows drawn together so that perplexed little line appeared between them. She pulled him close and kissed it.

"That vase," she mumbled, pointing vaguely in its direction. Then, "What flowers do you like?"

He was quiet again, and then he said slowly, "I like… lilacs."

"Which lilacs?"

He smiled a little and looked down. "The purple ones, like your eyes."

She giggled, which was really the stupidest sound but now he had the biggest loveliest smile and he raised his dark eyes to look at her.

"What's your favorite flower?" he asked.

She pretended to think about it. "My favorite flower is... tulips."

"Which tulips?"

She grinned. "Yours."

And she didn't remember falling asleep after that. She was used to chaos, she was born into war, but it seemed like she had just floated from laughter to peace, and then—

She was waking into a soft sunlit world, dawn streamed through the window and painted everything a gentle gold. Dameon breathed easily beside her, dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks. He would wake up soon and they would go downstairs and run a kingdom together, and Rhen—

She still wasn't tired and she wasn't scared. This was only the beginning, Thais was only the beginning, there were infinite golden adventures ahead of her.

And before everything, there was Dameon, and the way his dark eyes fluttered open and his arms reached for her, and how when she wondered how much love her heart could hold before it broke, his whispered back, _infinity_. And then she didn't know who had started crying first but she would blame him, either way—

And the flowers, they grew in the golden spring.


End file.
